


Morsmorde

by Lillian78



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8650807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian78/pseuds/Lillian78
Summary: Hermione Granger finds herself in a bit of a pickle with Lucius Malfoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite some time ago and it unfinished at this point. I might pick it up in the future if there is any interest in continuing this alternate universe. My premise behind Lucius taking on Hermione was that the purebloods in this alternate universe are coming to recognize that their closed genetic pool was, in fact, causing less children to be born to them and this underlying worry was sending them off in a completely unexpected direction.

Hermione felt terribly groggy as she struggled to surface from sleep. Her body ached terribly; her breasts were tender and the nagging lower back ache that had troubled her for the last week obviously hadn’t resolved itself yet. Her eyelids felt crusty and dry as she cracked them open. She shifted her body to push herself up and the covers on the bed dropped away.

Hermione shook her head at the feel of sheets slipping off of her body. What was she doing nude in her bed? She always slept in a nightgown, flannel with pretty ruffles, and perfect for the ever chilly Gryffindor Tower. Something wasn’t right here. The room looked strange.

Her pupils enlarged with fear as she started to look wildly around. This wasn’t her room. Where was she?

Hermione clutched the silk sheets to her breasts and dragged them with her as she staggered out of the large four poster bed. 

The room was large and without a fireplace. The walls themselves were a dark wood. Perhaps mahogany? There was a writing desk and chair with parchment, ink and quills in one corner as well as a wardrobe opposite it. Scattered about the room in a seemingly random placement was a large grey sofa as well as two masculine club chairs. Her toes gripped a thick Persian rug that covered most of the floor in the room.

‘What on earth is going on?’ she thought. 

Her head ached as if she’d indulged in a bout of drinking. But she never consumed alcohol. Not even recently when the opportunity had presented itself, when the Gryffindor boys one weekend had managed to wrangle a bottle of firewhiskey from a friend in Hogsmeade. She’d refused all attempts to inveigle her into trying a sip.

She squinted and thought back to…yes…late yesterday afternoon. She’d been walking back from the village on the student’s Hogsmeade weekend. Ron and Harry had decided to stay a little longer but Hermione had wanted to put the finishing touches on her extra credit Herbology project for Professor Sprout so she’d headed back to the castle.

Her heart began to drum painfully in her chest. She remembered walking past the stand of Oak trees just outside of the village when, unsuspecting, she’d been grabbed from behind. Strong arms forcing her head back while a cloth covered her nose and mouth with a sickly sweet smell. The last thing she remembered was the popping sound of apparition.

She saw another door on the left side of the room that she carefully opened. It led, she noted, to a large bathroom suite with large tub and shower.

She walked silently over to the door that she assumed led to the rest of the house and gently tried it. Damn, it was locked. No help there.

There was also a large window in the room that let in the streaming daylight. She pattered over to it on chilled feet hoping to get some idea as to where she was currently located.

She looked out to see what appeared to be a large, slightly overgrown garden. Beyond it there were some woods. Hermione believed that she was located somewhere in the country, but other than that, had no real clues as to precisely where that was.

Hermione reached up to see if she could open the window latch.

As soon as she touched it, green sparks shot out, burning her fingers painfully.

Squealing, she whipped her aching hand away and sucked on her scorched fingers. Obviously it was warded against escape attempts.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she heard a deep, masculine voice say.

Hermione froze on the spot like a rabbit sensing a predator. Her hands began to tremble. She held her body rigidly, afraid to look over her shoulder. If she confronted this mysterious man the situation quickly moved from nightmare to harsh reality.

“The house is warded to prevent anyone entering or leaving if they do not bear the dark mark, in a particularly painful fashion I might add,” said the drawling, disembodied voice.

Taking a deep breath, and steeling her nerves, Hermione turned to confront her captor.

Lucius Malfoy stood just inside the open bedroom door, lounging against the door jam.

“Shite,” Hermione found herself saying.

Malfoy sneered, “Quite,” he replied. 

Hermione’s eyes flicked up and down the man. She was surprised to see that he was wearing muggle type clothing rather than traditional wizard’s robes. He had on a clean, crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows that showed strongly muscled forearms as well as his dark mark. He had on a pair of stylishly tailored black trousers that hugged his long legs and on his feet he wore knee length black boots. His long whitish blond hair that reached past his shoulder was tied back with a simple black velvet ribbon. 

A memory of something she had overheard about Lucius Malfoy recycled its way into the forefront of her consciousness mind. 

One day, between classes, she’d been walking directly in back of Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode and happened to hear them gossiping about one of their favorite topics…Draco Malfoy. 

“Draco’s handsome enough all right, but he’s a touch too pretty for my tastes,” said Pansy.

“Oh really?” scoffed Millicent with a disbelieving look. “And just who is better looking than Draco?”

Pansy’s pug-like face took on a leering quality and she lowered her voice a touch.

“His father, Lucius Malfoy, of course,” she hissed to her girlfriend.

Millicent erupted into a fit of giggles which automatically caused Hermione to roll her eyes in back of them. Honestly, they were such children sometimes. You’d never know they were all young ladies of sixteen now.

“But he’s so old! He must be a least forty,” she said in a delighted tone.

“I don’t care if he’s four hundred. He just oozes sex. All he has to do is to look at you and you’d be wet,” Pansy said with a sigh.

Hermione had been disgusted. She couldn’t imagine any circumstance under which a Death Eater would be in any way appealing. It was inconceivable to her that Malfoy had not only been able to escape from Azkaban Prison, but was idolized to the degree he was by the younger generation of Slytherins.

Snapping back to reality, Hermione realized she’d better bring her brain back on line. She only had her wits to protect her. Lucius wouldn’t hesitate to level a killing curse at her.

“Let me guess,” she blurted out.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow elegantly but said nothing.

‘Show no fear’ her deepest instincts told her.

“I’ve been kidnapped by Vol…You Know Who in an attempt to get at Harry. I’m not dead yet because you need to keep me alive. I’m at some sort of Death Eater safe house and you’re here well I’m not quite sure why you’re here,” she said briskly. 

Malfoy shifted and his leather boots creaked a bit but he said nothing.

“Though I must say its bit rude to take all my clothes,” she babbled into the awkward silence.

Hermione blushed at the thought of Malfoy disrobing her. She’d never been naked before in front of any male.

Malfoy smirked as he seemed to read her thoughts.

“Not to worry Miss Granger. I wouldn’t sully my hands on a Mudblood; the house elf did the honors,” he said in a cold tone.

At the tone of curt dismissal Hermione found herself blushing harder.

“There are robes in the wardrobe. Clothe yourself and meet me downstairs in five minutes,” he ordered.

Malfoy turned and left the room leaving the door open.

Panicked thoughts ran around in her head. There had to be a way out there just had to. She couldn’t rely on her friends getting her out. She was an intelligent, level-headed girl she’d just to have to find a way.

Hermione stumbled over to wardrobe and pulled out a bra and panties. There were several lovely sets of robes including a jade green one that she pulled out. 

These were all in her size. How did they know what to get? 

She immediately dismissed such frivolous thoughts. 

As soon as she pulled on her underclothes she hurriedly pulled the robes over head. She could feel her hair standing up. Gods she hated her curly hair first thing in the morning. Only with an assist from Ginny’s Wizarding Miss Hair Spray could she ever truly get it under control.

She rummaged around and found a pair of shoes she put her feet into.

“Mirror,” she muttered trying to smooth down her hair that reached down past her shoulders.

“Over here dearie,” said a voice.

Hermione startled but followed the direction the voice had come from.

A large gilt mirror on the other side of the wardrobe sparkled at her.

She peered at herself in the mirror.

“Oh no,” she groaned.

The green robes were beautiful but much lower cut than Hermione had ever worn. The tops of her breasts were even visible. Her hair was in wild disarray the curls pulling down her hair in a way that made her look well anything like her normal self.

“I look horrible,” she groaned.

“I don’t know what you’re seeing dearie but from here you look positively luscious,” said the mirror.

“I’ll change,” she said.

“No time dearie. You’d best get downstairs now. That man doesn’t look like the type who’ll wait,” the mirror said dryly.

Panicking Hermione realized that the mirror was right. Her inner time clock told her that the fives minutes were well and truly up.

She raced to the door and looked down the corridor to the right. It seemed to lead to more bedrooms on the first floor. To her left was the staircase. Her bedroom was the first door on the floor.

Flying down the stairs as she did at Hogwarts when late for a class she paused at the bottom a trifle confused. Malfoy hadn’t told her where to meet him on the ground floor.

As she walked down into the foyer she saw a hallway to the right. She went to the first closed door and quietly opened it.

Inside Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of a small table sipping what smelled like coffee. A quiet house elf was putting the finishing touches to a second place setting. 

“Come in girl, and sit down,” Malfoy said without looking up from the Daily Prophet he was reading.

This casual dismissal of her stung her pride. He wasn’t even worried that she’d club him with the first available weapon that came to hand. And since she was feeling horrible anyway in the midst of her PMS cycle, she was more than capable of letting loose in such a manner. Both Ron and Harry had learned to avoid her at a certain time of the month.

Hermione huffed but shut the door and flounced to the table.

The house elf offered her a plate of muffins. She shook her head. She picked up the coffee pot and poured herself a cup adding a large measure of cream.

The coffee was hot and delicious. Hermione immediately felt her spirits rise. At least they weren’t planning to starve her.

“I do have a name you know,” she said a few minutes of silence. “It’s Hermione,” she said with a touch of asperity.

Malfoy lowered the paper and his icy blue eyes lazily took her appearance in top to bottom but said nothing.

Hermione found herself flushing again in anger this time.

Her breasts felt tender, her back ached, she was developing a strong tension headache, and the blasted man was looking at her like she was some insect he’d found squashed under his boot.

Hermione let out a scream of pain as Malfoy’s hand reached out with the speed of a striking snake and grabbed a hold of Hermione’s chestnut curls, yanking her ruthlessly off her chair and on to the floor beside him. 

Tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes as she gasped in pain. It felt like Malfoy had torn her hair out by the roots.

The newspaper fluttered down beside her as the death eater casually brought his left leg over her shoulder so that she was between his knees.

“You are what I choose to call you,” he said in a calm low tone.

Malfoy released her hair and put his hand down cupping her chin bringing her tear filled face up to look at him.

Hermione looked up into his merciless blue eyes and shuddered. She was so close she could now feel the body heat coming off of her captor.

“Do we understand one another now?” he asked in a dark, silky voice.

Unaccountably, Hermione much to her everlasting shock felt her nipples tightening in her robe. 

Mutely Hermione nodded hoping that Malfoy would soon remove his hand before he noticed her shame. Luck wasn’t with her apparently because Malfoy chuckled darkly as he removed his hand, confused as to what to do; Hermione studied the floor where she sat sprawled, unwilling to risk invoking the Death Eaters temper again. 

“Get up and take your breakfast,” Malfoy said holding out a hand in a gentlemanly fashion to help her up.

Hermione hesitated fearing yet another trick of some sort but eventually she put her smaller hand in his large callused one as he helped her to stand. She snatched her hand away as soon as she was up, rubbing at it unconsciously with the other, trying to remove the taint of the man.

She was grateful for the chair underneath her as she sat down because her knees felt decidedly wobbly and weak

Malfoy picked up the paper off the floor and read aloud with some relish.

“Hogwart’s student missing, presumed kidnapped,” he said with a chuckle. “Their brilliance never fails to astonish me,” he said.

“Me?” Hermione asked in a small voice.

Malfoy cocked his head and turned the paper around for Hermione to see.

At the bottom of the first page was the article along with a picture of her, Harry and Ron.

“Oh no, not that wretched picture,” she said with a groan. “I could kill Colin. I look horrible there,” she said annoyed. 

Hermione almost fell off the chair when Lucius Malfoy started to laugh. With wide eyes she watched as the man continued to chuckle at her expense. He didn’t look much a cold-blooded killer as he relaxed lazily against the chair. Why hadn’t she thought him capable of laughter? One minute he was hurting her apparently without conscience and the next showing he had a sense of humor…most confusing.

“My parents,” she began and then her throat closed up. Her parents would be out of their minds with worry for her. She bit her lip hard. She hoped that Dumbledore would have talked to them personally about their daughter’s disappearance.

“What time is it, please?” she said in a small voice. 

Malfoy scrutinized her for a second before replying.

“Mid-afternoon,” he said.

She took another sip of her coffee her fingers trembling a bit. Anything that helped to clear her fuzzy mind was a good thing. Hermione also picked up a muffin and began to pick it apart on her plate in a nervous gesture. 

After a few minutes the question that had been bothering her since she came downstairs popped out.

“Why you?” she blurted.

Malfoy who’d returned to his perusal of the paper looked over the top of the Prophet.

Hermione felt herself starting to stammer under his hard glance.

“I mean why were you chosen to guard me? The House is warded against escape anyway…” she babbled.

Malfoy put the paper down gently on the table and Hermione quailed a little against the hard back of the chair.

“Never mind, I guess it’s just Death Eater politics,” she squeaked.

A smile of genuine amusement broke over his face.

“And what would you know about our…politics little mudblood?” he asked silkily.

Hermione felt a bit of starch come back into her spine. She despised being condescended to.

“We do have Slytherins at Hogwarts you know,” she said with a touch of tartness.

“You think we would actually tell our children something of value?” he asked in an amused tone.

Hermione fumed silently. Something both the Order and the Death Eaters had in common it seemed.

“But we’re not children are we?” she asked starkly.

Malfoy laid his paper down eyeing her closely. Hermione felt her skin quiver under his gaze.

“I was fifteen years old last year, running through the Department of Mysteries, trying to stay alive with Death Eaters throwing curses at me and my friends,” she said continuing unconsciously to shred the muffin she was holding into tinier and tinier pieces.

Hermione the warmth in the room disappear as the memories of that night again flashed through her consciousness. 

“I hardly think that’s the way children normally grow up,” she said gloomily.

Hermione blushed when she realized that Malfoy was continuing to stare at her. How foolish she must have sounded. As if he would care even a little about what happened to her. What foolishness.

“I think I’ll just see the rest of the house,” she said rising on numb legs from the table. “That is if that’s all right?” she asked hesitatingly. 

Malfoy didn’t respond verbally but nodded and then went back to studying his paper and drinking his coffee.

Hermione quickly departed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After several hours of fruitless, frustrating exploration, Hermione ended up in the library which was directly beside the drawing room where she and Malfoy had first met. She gone from the top of dusty attic right through to the last cupboard in the pantry. The House was sealed off completely with dark wards. There was no way out. 

She sat in a large leather chair her feet tucked beneath her and thought about her admittedly dire situation. She had no wand. Her current abilities in wandless magic were good enough only for the smallest of tasks such as a lumos spell, and certainly nothing as complex as breaking wards. And, even if somehow she could overpower the much stronger Lucius, she couldn’t use his wand. Trying to use another wizard’s or witch’s wand was useless at best and, at worst, quite dangerous because spells could backfire badly.

Hermione looked around at the vast array of books surrounding her and fell back into her most comfortable of routines. Books had always been her best friends and helpmates. There was nothing she’d done in her life that books hadn’t made easier for her. She would look through these books and see if there was anything to help her in this current situation.

She stood and walked over to the shelving. The books were more than a little dusty. She wondered why the house elf wouldn’t attend to them as he did with the rest of the house.

Shrugging, she perused the titles running her fingers lightly over them. Hermione was slightly shocked to note that these were all about dark magic in one form or another. Indeed she could feel the dark notes almost vibrating out from them. Even the Restricted Section at Hogwarts probably wouldn’t have carried these because they were clearly written for a dark wizard.

‘Stupid’ she scolded herself ‘of course they’re dark, this is a Death Eater safe house after all,’ she began mentally smacking herself for being completely clueless.

As her fingers touched the books reverently she felt increasing jolts of magic reaching out to her. As she touched one book she was enveloped by a cold, greasy sort of feel almost tentacle-like reaching out to her magic. 

Hermione snatched her hand away from that one as if burnt.

“Blood Sacrifice Most Potente” it read. Hermione shuddered.

She moved along perusing titles but carefully avoided touching them again.

Finally, she came upon a very thick tome but couldn’t make out the title due to the accumulation of dust on it. She gently brushed it away.

“Sex Magic and its Various Applications” it said.

She felt a very pleasant sort of tingle run through her hand and down her body. Hermione giggled. Well this one didn’t feel like a threat, and besides when would she have this opportunity again? She gently pulled the book from its shelving and took the large tome back with her to the chair and sitting down quietly opened it. 

She became so engrossed during the next hour; she failed to hear the door opening behind her, or the soft footfalls that were muffled by the colorful Persian rug in the room.

Hermione’s face was red as she studied a wizarding illustration. There was a young witch and wizard doing, apparently, anatomically impossible things to one another. She felt a low ache in her belly and a frisson of excitement as she closely studied the moving illustration.

“People can’t really do that can they?” she muttered to herself. “It looks awfully uncomfortable,” she said.

“Far from it,” said a voice from in back of her.

Hermione screamed and jumped from the chair which only made the book go flying into the fireplace.

“Accio book,” said Lucius Malfoy casually.

The book flew out of the ashes and smacked into his hand.

Hermione’s heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. Her entire body seemed to flush as she saw Malfoy examining her book.

“Doing a little research mudblood?” he said with a trace of a smile.

Hermione gasped like a fish out of water. She didn’t reply because she really had no viable explanation for examining it.

“My son tells me that you’re involved with the Weasley boy,” he said coolly arching an eyebrow. “Is he not satisfying you with his fumbling?” the Death Eater said with some little petty malice.

Hermione realized at that point where Draco had acquired his most annoying smirk.

“What?” squawked Hermione, feeling somewhat unbalanced by his assumptions. “Ron and I are dating but…we haven’t…that is we’ve never been you know…” she babbled.

“No?” asked Malfoy in a vaguely disbelieving tone, walking around to sit in the chair Hermione had so recently vacated.

‘Funny’ she thought. ‘He manages to be intimidating even when sitting in a chair.’ The only other man she knew who came close to this level of dangerous personal charisma was, strangely enough, Professor Snape. 

She assumed it was their shared histories as Death Eaters. After all, Voldemort would hardly select anything less than most talented, ruthless wizards and witches as his sycophants. 

“Certainly not,” Hermione snapped, feeling horribly uncomfortable standing in front of the man. 

Uncertain as to what to do, Hermione’s hands clutched nervously at her robe, while she tried to decide whether she would be able to flee to her bedroom.

Just then, the house elf popped into the room.

“Master, tea is served in the drawing room,” it said with a low bow.

Malfoy nodded and stood up.

Hermione, feeling as if she’d just been freed from an Imperio curse, took a deep breath and moved quickly towards the door, only to bump into the door jam as she tried to rush through it. She bounced off of it feeling horribly gauche as she scooted towards the drawing room. Malfoy, walking behind her, snorted. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sat back finally replete. The meal had been perfect. She hadn’t eaten substantially since her luncheon whilst in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron.

The house elf popped into the room quietly removing the dessert dishes.

“Master would like coffee or tea?” it squeaked a question.

Malfoy let loose a tired sigh.

“No. Firewhiskey,” he said shortly.

Hermione feeling sleepy from the meal looked up when the house elf turned to address her.

“Would miss like anything else?” it asked.

“Yes, some coffee please,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand delicately attempting to prevent a tiny yawn from escaping. 

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Malfoy sneering at her. Oh, right. If Dobby was anything to go by the Malfoy’s probably treated their house elves at a slighter higher level than a useful scrub brush. She decided that if would probably be ill-advised at best to bring up the concept of house elves rights at this point. She found herself biting off yet another yawn. 

Hermione was aware that it was imperative that she stay alert. If there was any chance that the contents of the library might facilitate her escape, she must be willing to devote the better part of the evening to research. She could ill afford to let her fatigue escort her into sleep. Time was not on her side.

The Gryffindor was honest enough to allow that this, at best, was a faint hope. But as she was normally highly self-sufficient, it made her more than a little queasy to allow her fate to be determined by actions of others.

Seconds later, the elf reappeared with a both a bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey as well a glass for the blond aristocrat.

Malfoy opened the bottle and poured himself a generous measure.

The house elf soon brought Hermione her coffee, leaving the pot, sugar and cream on the table within her reach. As was her preference, she added a large dollop of cream then sipped the strong brew gratefully.

As Hermione drank her coffee, she belatedly realized that sitting with a Death Eater imbibing alcohol might not be the best idea she’d ever had. Merlin knew what he’d be like under the inhibition loosening effects of alcohol. Malfoy frowned, she noticed. It seemed that he could pick up the censorious thoughts from her expression alone. Hermione avoided his eyes, and turned in apparent indifference, to examine the rest of the room spending some time examining a landscape painting on one of the walls. Eventually, the temptation proved too great, and she found herself gawking again at the blond man sitting across from her. 

Lucius Malfoy was now consuming his firewhiskey at a rather alarming rate. A few stray locks of his blond hair had begun to escape from the ribbon constraining it, and had fallen forward in a spill of silken strands about his face. In the candlelit room, it gave the somewhat misleading impression that a golden halo surrounded his head.

‘Golden halo indeed,’ she reprimanded herself sharply. I sound as shallow as Pansy.’

Malfoy appeared tired as he studied the light bouncing off the golden alcohol in his glass. There were dark circles beginning to show under his eyes and a slight redness to the eyes that bespoke more than a few sleepless nights. Hermione wondered how these months on the run and in hiding from Ministry Aurors had affected this member of the wizarding aristocracy. Malfoy had rolled his shirt sleeves up, so if Hermione craned her neck just at the right angle, she could see part of the dark mark crawling along his left arm. She shuddered. 

‘He couldn’t have been much older than I am now when he was first marked,’ she reflected. 

Hermione tried to imagine one of her friends, under similar circumstances, accepting such a marking, but failed.

“Aren’t you worried about getting pissed? I understand that firewhiskey can be quite…potent,” she said warily. 

“Rather the whole point of the exercise” he said sarcastically. “It will make my current duties appear, for the moment, less onerous,” he said with a scowl.

Hermione quickly looked away, concentrating her efforts on finishing her coffee and quitting his presence as soon as she was able. 

The rate of his firewhiskey consumption was making her more than a little apprehensive. A drunken dark wizard was not something she was prepared to deal with tonight.

‘Or any night really,’ she thought ruefully.

Hermione consumed her coffee at a faster pace and had almost finished it when Malfoy again broke the silence.

“Give me your cup,” he said.

“My cup?” she asked blankly.

“Are you trying to be provoking girl? I said hand-me–your-cup,” he said with irritation and then snatched it from her relaxed hand.

Malfoy poured a large measure of the whiskey into her coffee cup and returned it to her.

“Thank you very much, but I don’t drink,” she said primly.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes in apparent exasperation.

“Try it. You’ll find it just might improve the company,” he replied.

“I don’t need alcohol to make me feel better, thank you,” she said dismissively.

“Try it,” he ordered, slamming his hand down loudly on the table, making her jump.

Deciding that discretion would indeed be the better part of valor when confronted with a Death Eater three sheets to the wind, she quickly downed some of the doctored coffee.

That proved to be a mistake.

She gasped, coughed and tears sprang to her eyes as she choked. She felt she’d swallowed liquid fire that had burned its way in a direct line from her mouth to stomach. 

‘How could anyone ever consume something so positively deadly voluntarily?’ she thought, trying to catch her breath.

Her nose ran like a tap, so she took her napkin from her lap in an effort to discretely wipe it away.

Through watery eyes, she could see Malfoy openly watching her as he poured himself another shot.

“Not bad,” she croaked.

To her wonderment, she saw his lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. Eager not to lose the small amount of approval she’d garnered from him, and not completely sure why it mattered, Hermione took another swallow of the whiskey-laden coffee mixture. It still burned going down, but now seemed to bring a delicious warmth rather than pain this time. They settled into almost companionable silence as she continued to down his offering. 

“This isn’t half bad’ she thought. ‘It makes everything all nice and fuzzy around the edges.’

“More?” said Malfoy.

Hermione blinked. The coffee cup in her hand was nearly empty. 

‘How had she polished that off so quickly?’ she thought. 

At that precise moment, Hermione feeling quite laid-back and grown up, boldly held out her cup for him to refill.

“Why not,” she said, with reckless abandon normally rarely exhibited by the young Gryffindor.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she heard a rather inconvenient whiny voice, trying to tell her that this was a remarkably bad idea.

‘Sod off,’ she told it. ‘I could be dead by tomorrow so who’ll it hurt if I have drink or two tonight?’

Feeling satisfied with her decision Hermione found, to her chagrin, that her eyes were drawn continually back to Malfoy. If she had been a magnet, Malfoy would, undoubtedly have been true north for the pull he seemed to exert over her.

Hermione examined him, trying to be as circumspect as possible while doing so.

The elder Malfoy’s build was rather impressive; he was tall with a long, well-muscled body that gave off an overall impression of contained power ready to be unleashed at a moments notice. In comparison, Draco at age sixteen appeared to be but a pale imitation of his father. While the son was slender and fine-boned, Lucius was more strongly proportioned with a powerful chest and broader shoulders than his progeny. The eyes were different as well, for while Draco’s eyes were a cold gray, Lucius Malfoy possessed the bluest, most piercing eyes Hermione had ever seen. They possessed a decidedly disquieting quality, especially when they were focused on you.

‘He looks more like a lion waiting to leap on his prey, rather than a cold-blooded snake,’ she thought. ‘He even has the mane for it.’

Hermione giggled at the thought of Malfoy learning he had all the qualities of the Gryffindor lion. He’d be so affronted.

Malfoy flicked an inquisitive glance in her direction.

“Something strikes you as entertaining little mudblood?” he asked in a smoky voice, as he poured himself yet another shot of firewhiskey.

Hermione, whose internal filter was apparently vanishing along with her second glass of Ogden’s finest, said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Pansy was right,” she said with the beginnings of a small slur in her voice, “you’re so much better looking than Draco,” she said, as she leant her head tiredly forward onto one hand.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed upon hearing Hermione’s rather artless confession.

“Why, Miss Granger you astound me. Was that an admiring comment I heard?” he asked cuttingly.

‘What’d I just say?’ she thought in some panic, scrambling to reconnect somehow with her brain. 

‘You idiot,’ the annoying voice in her head said. ‘I told you not to drink that! But do you ever listen to me…NOOOOOOO..’

Hermione slapped both her hands to her mouth in horror, as the conversation replayed itself in all its humiliating detail in her mind.

‘Get up and leave right now,’ her little inner voice prompted.

Hermione rose to her feet, listing a little to one side.

“I think I’ll retire now,” she said in a slightly shaky voice, while attempting to gather the tattered remnants of her dignity.

As she pushed her chair back, Malfoy captured her wrist with his hand.

Hermione squeaked in surprise.

‘This is bad…really bad, I’ve got to go. He’s going to kill me for saying that. What with me being a dirty mudblood and all’ she thought, blinking somewhat owlishly at his large hand clamped now to her thin wrist.

Almost as if responding to that very thought, he planted his booted feet firmly and stood up, still keeping Hermione firmly in his grip. He showed little, if any, signs of inebriation save for a slight softening of his facial features. “Not quite yet,” he said. 

Hermione shivered head to toe as the Death Eater’s thumb slowly stroked the back of her wrist. She tried ineffectually pulling her wrist away from him but found, to her chagrin, that she was no match in a battle of strength with him. He’d let her go when and if he pleased. Malfoy pulled her closer to him within a hairsbreadth of actually touching him. Since the top of her head only reached his shoulder, she found herself nose to chest with him. Hermione daren’t look up because Merlin only knew how angry he might be with her by this point. He’d already demonstrated a capacity for violence when the mood struck him.

Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest in an erratic rhythm, but she became even more alarmed when she felt him release her wrist, moving both his hands down to encircle her small waist. Hermione caught a whiff of whiskey, leather and a trace of an underlying musky scent as she breathed in rapidly. Malfoy’s physical aroma was well there was no other word for it, delicious. Hermione had never, up until now, given any credence to the muggle theory of pheromones used in attracting a mate, but she was now busily revising that position. 

‘You have completely lost it now my girl’ said her inner voice. “You’re going to be a teetotaler from now on.’

Malfoy lowered his head and Hermione felt strands of his sleek golden hair brush against her face.

Malfoy started to whisper into her right ear, causing goose bumps to erupt all over her body.

“Now what would your little Gryffindor friends say if they knew you were consorting with the enemy?” he asked.

Hermione gasped in distress. She tried to shift away from Malfoy but his grip was like iron around her fragile wrist bones.

“Flirting with a Death Eater,” he said mockingly. “Oh, the horror,” he murmured. 

Hermione’s eyes pricked with unshed tears. Horribly, she knew Malfoy was right; her friends would never be able to understand Hermione allowing such feelings to enter her head.

“Imagine their shock, their disappointment, that their pet mudblood would be available to me,” he whispered into her small, shell-like ear.

“I’m not like that at all,” she defended herself, peering blearily up at him. “I’m just a little under the weather at the moment,” she hastened to add.

Hermione was shaken by the look of contempt he was giving her.

It was like having ice water thrown upon her over-heated hormones.

No matter how attractive the outer packaging might be this was a man who was, at his core, a Death Eater. A willing follower of Voldemort, who’d tortured and killed in the name of racial purity. 

‘You’ve let firewhiskey and hormones overcome your good sense.’ she thought angrily.

“I hardly think you are in any way in a position to judge anyone’s behavior,” she said letting some of her anger trickle through.

“How so?” he asked with apparent disinterest, removing his hands finally from her waist and stepping back.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps serving a barking mad wizard who is intent upon massacring a large portion of the magical world might count against you,” she said sharply.

“A Slytherin only serves his own best self-interests, Miss Granger,” he said with derision. “But I’m afraid I’ve overestimated your ability to grasp the subject matter,” he said curtly.

“Oh, I see,” she scoffed. “Forgive me, I can now see the major advantages that your association has brought you,” she said.

“I owe you no explanation mudblood, but perhaps you can follow this much. My family is everything to me. I do what I must to preserve and protect them as well as our culture. And if that means I must sacrifice myself for the cause then so be it,” he hissed.

“Oh yes. Racial purity is so important to you isn’t it,” she murmured.

Malfoy let loose a deep breath speedily regaining the reins of his composure.

“You cannot possibly appreciate what family lines truly signify to a pureblood wizard. Do you know, even today, what the worst defamatory remark is that can be directed at a wizard or witch?” he asked.

“Murderer?” she asked sweetly.

“Hardly. The answer is blood traitor,” he said. “The worst sin that you can be accused of committing in wizarding society is a betrayal of your own lineage.”

Observing Hermione’s baffled expression he continued, “Ah, I see this in one area that your so-called expertise fails you is it not? And why should you? You were not born to our culture, trained in it and knowing your family history as intimately as the back of your hand,” he sighed in a world weary way. 

“It isn’t as if I haven’t made an effort to do so. Yes, it has been harder for me than someone born to it, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying to learn and benefit from the wizarding culture,” she said defensively.

“Believe it or not Mr. Malfoy, I can appreciate pride in one’s family and their accomplishment, but this supposition of pureblood superiority is, you’ll forgive me for saying so, pure rubbish,” Hermione said defiantly.

“How is it that I, a simple muggleborn, manage to achieve the top marks in all my classes, save potions?” she asked sweetly. 

Malfoy frowned at her.

“It would seem that your notion of pureblood superiority has some rather large holes in it,” she said with a frown.

A small smile tugged at the corners of the blonde’s mouth.

“As with everything in this world Miss Granger, there are always the rare exceptions to the rule. So you see, your argument is still unproven,” he said with a dismissive hand gesture.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but Malfoy cut her short.

“My bloodlines reaches back through ten generations of wizards girl, I know more about our history than you could ever possibly hope to, and yet your presume to instruct me?” he asked harshly as he squared his shoulders.

Hermione fumed at his curt dismissal of her ideas. He wasn’t listening to her. Nobody ever listened to her.

“Even should you win this battle you’ll lose in the end, since, regrettably there is a major flaw in plan,” she said coolly. 

“How so?” asked Lucius, cocking his head with something like interest.

“Genetics,” she said smugly.

Lucius raised both brows questioningly.

“Muggle science,” she smirked openly now. “They’re quite clever, you know. Or maybe you don’t…much to your own detriment in the end I must say.”

“Do go on,” he said in a mocking tone.

Hermione felt incredibly smug now. This was something he was completely out of his depth on. 

“I studied a variety of pureblood family’s genetics as part of my research paper for Professor Sprout. There’s quite a lot of information about the older family trees in the Hogwarts Library, you know. It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re breeding yourselves right out of existence,’ she said with uncharacteristic malice.

“Pure rot,” Lucius said calmly.

Hermione giggled. Oh, revenge was sweet.

“Only too true, I’m afraid. You can even put me under veritaserum if you’d like to prove it,” she said raising her chin to him.

“Sadly, the potion is not readily available to me here,” he said, watching her like a hawk.

Hermione shifted from foot to foot unnerved by his calm contemplation. She’d thought he’d be furious at her for bringing this unpleasant truth to light.

“My research has proved that with each generation more and more squibs are being produced by purebloods whose prejudice limits their choices. Without the fresh blood brought in by both muggleborns and half-bloods, you’ll eventually waken one day to find that entire family lines have weakened and died out completely.”

Lucius continued to say nothing but ran a cold eye over her.

“Have you never wondered why the two most powerful wizards running around today are half-bloods?” she asked, frustrated.

“Dumbledore isn’t,” Malfoy finally replied.

“But he’s three generations back,” she huffed, feeling completely confident now that they were discussing her research.

Lucius was silent a few moments. He then grabbed her chin roughly and brought her head up sharply, locking gazes with her as he did so.

Hermione was unable to tear her eyes away from his ice blue ones. Seconds later she felt a terrible itchy feeling begin invading the back of her skull. It wasn’t painful per se but decidedly odd. Thoughts and feelings started rise in her faster and faster as she felt like a deck of cards being shuffled. 

Abruptly, he let her go, breaking the contact.

‘Merlin, he’s a Legilimens,’ she thought in a slight panic. 

Briefly, she thanked her lucky stars that Professor Dumbledore had indeed kept them in the dark where most Order business was concerned. Now she saw how easy it would have been to involuntarily betray them in some manner.

Lucius’ continued cool, silent appraisal of her continued for several minutes, making her increasingly nervous.

“Point to you, Hermione,” he finally said wryly, reaching down and taking his wand out of his boot.

Hermione, having been released from his grip, staggered a few steps backward in horror. 

‘Oh Merlin, he was going to kill her for being the bearer of bad tidings. What a complete idiot she was,’ she thought in terror.

She saw Lucius unerringly point his wand at her. She shut her eyes not wanting to see her death in his eyes.

“Facundia,” she heard pronounced, and felt a tingle running low in her belly, bringing a delicious sort of warmth with it. 

Before the tingling disappeared completely she heard him murmur another word “Bonhomme,” and another jolt of sensation went through her body.

Her eyes popped open. He hadn’t killed her.

“What did you do?” she asked anxiously.

He put the wand back in his boot and moved forward stepping once again into personal space. 

“Insuring my family’s continued existence.” he said. 

At Hermione’s confused look he continued, “I’m nothing if not a cautious man, Miss Granger. I can see the truth of what you’re saying even if it’s personally distasteful to me.”

“You did read my mind,” she gasped and recoiled from him.

“Dark Wizard, my dear,” he said with a charming smile.

Hermione felt completely at sea. She had a sinking feeling that things were about to go from bad to really, really bad. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides digging her nails into the palm of her hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

Lucius moved and wrapped an arm around her waist. Hermione tried to move out of his hold but his arm was like a steel band.

“Come, we’ll go into the library and sit down like reasonable wizards and witches to discuss this,” he said and gently pulled her along with him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After they’d settled comfortably in the library on the plush sofa located near the now roaring fireplace, Hermione fiddled with her robes. 

Every time Malfoy had moved close to her she’d scooted further away, until now she was trapped against the side of the sofa and could move no further. He was so close she could feel the heat coming off of him invading her space. 

Clearing her throat once Hermione said, “you were going to explain what you did.”

“You Miss Granger have given me food for thought,” Lucius said rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Hermione watched him carefully.

“And placed me in somewhat of a quandary. My orders were to hold you here three days but if we hadn’t managed to lure Potter here by then, I was to use the killing curse on you and return to my Master.”

Hermione went completely cold with fear. She was only sixteen. She wanted to live. Unshed tears started to gather in her eyes. 

‘Stop it, you silly girl. You knew it might come to this. It’s a war after all,’ she told herself fiercely but found scant comfort in the truth.

“Professor Dumbledore would never permit Harry to leave Hogwarts, especially after what happened with Sirius,” she said miserably. “He’ll have Harry watched closely.”

“My thoughts exactly, however, my Master can be somewhat…intractable when he desires something. And above anything else he craves Potter’s destruction,” he said musingly.

“He’s completely mad you know,” Hermione said, preparing to be scoffed at.

“Most powerful dark wizards are,” Lucius said easily, leaning back into the sofa and stretching his long legs out.

“But…but…why do follow him then if you know that?” she asked her curiosity well and truly piqued.

“Out interests happened to coincide,” he said, his sharper tone indicating that the discussion was coming to an end.

Lucius eyed Hermione narrowly.

“However, your point is well taken. Leaving Draco as the only heir might indeed place our family at some risk,” he said.

Hermione started to feel a bit uneasy.

“There are too many variables with him. He might become involved in the war and end up getting killed. Or, if you’re correct, and he does survive to propagate he might produce squibs,” he said, his face twisting bitterly as he admitted it.

“So, why don’t you and your wife…umm…” Hermione stammered, her hands waving a bit in emphasis.

“But Miss Granger,” he purred. “You’ve managed to convince me that I need ‘fresh blood’ in my lines to prevent the Malfoy name from dying out.

The other shoe finally dropped for Hermione. The fog her mind had been began to clear rapidly.

“Those spells,” she gasped out, outraged.

“Charms actually,” Lucius said and he placed his hand on her thigh.

Hermione couldn’t catch her breath and was starting to feel dizzy.

“They were…they…”

“The same charms I used on Narcissa during our honeymoon. To insure that you are both fertile and will conceive a male child for me,” he murmured, as his hand began to squeeze her thigh.

“You’re completely out of your mind,” Hermione said, completely flabbergasted. “Why on earth would I do that?” she demanded, her voice rising steadily in pitch.

“A very Gryffindor answer,” he said with a snort. “Think like a Slytherin for a moment, girl. I assume you want to live, yes?”

Hermione nodded jerkily like a puppet.

“I want another heir. A spare if you will should things go badly in future for me. Insurance if you will that my family name carries on. That is always my first and foremost responsibility,” he said in a hard tone.

His hand moved from her thigh, casually encircled her waist, drawing her closer.

Hermione could feel his hot breath puff her face as he continued to speak.

“A life in exchange for a life, Hermione. That is what I demand. You’re attracted to me so it should hardly be unpleasant for you. I can see to it that you fully…appreciate me,” he said lazily.

Hermione aghast at his inference tried to shrink back from him with an expression of revulsion on her face. Not at all put off, Malfoy leaned forward brushing his lips gently back and forth against hers. A little chill ran up her spine. 

“Once we accomplish my goal, I’ll release you back to your friends,” he said and leaning in order to run his lips along the side of her neck. 

Warm breath from his mouth touched her neck as he moved along murmuring something unintelligible against her skin. Hermione found herself arching her neck, giving him easier access as he planted light kisses on her throat. Lucius’ hands moved to her breasts as he continued his verbal seduction. 

“A life debt is no small thing among wizards as you know. So if I give you your life you’ll owe me a life. If you agree, you’ll take a wizards oath that obligates you to have and care for this child for me.”

Hermione’s inner alarms finally woke her from the sensual haze she’d started to fall into with his blatant sexuality working its own kind of spell. She jerked away from the man speaking in such blasé terms about impregnating her.

Her brain whirled crazily.

“That’s insane. I’m only sixteen. I would ruin my life by having a Death Eater’s…bastard,” she said, forcing the awful word out.

“Death before dishonor? How very plebian of you,” he mocked lightly.

Then Lucius expression hardened. “He won’t be a bastard,” he hissed. “Of course I’ll acknowledge him.” 

Seeing the confused look on her face, Lucius looked disgusted. 

“You know little of pureblood families, mudblood,” he said with a sneer. Most pureblood wizards have more than few out-of-wedlock children about,” he acknowledged casually, carding his fingers through her hair.

“At the very least the father will provide financial support for the child’s welfare. Should he need another heir he can, if he chooses, acknowledge another male child as one of his heirs.

“Why haven’t you done that, then?” she asked curiously.

Malfoy looked at her sharply before replying.

“Because, until now, I’ve only had female issue from the wrong side of the blanket and, really, never felt the necessity to try for another male child. After all, I had both myself and Draco and that seemed…adequate then. But times are perilous now with the ongoing war and one must cover all contingencies.

“All I have to do is contact my solicitors and have the paperwork done to legally acknowledge him. At that point my issue becomes a Malfoy in every sense of the word. 

At Hermione’s bewildered look he continued, “Oh, no need to fret little mudblood they’ll be very discreet in handling the matter.”

“But how can you possibly contact your lawyers? You’re on the list of the Ministry’s most wanted wizards. You’d be thrown into Azkaban if you were caught,” she asked dumbfounded. Surely, the solicitors would turn the man in to the Aurors?

Lucius relaxed once again his tension bleeding out of him.

“Don’t be naïve,” he said in an amused tone, reaching out to entwine her long chestnut hair around his fingers.

“What part of discreet don’t you comprehend Miss Granger? These solicitors have served my family for the better part of two hundred years and will continue to do so regardless of my current legal status,” he said pointedly.

‘And I’ll just bet they’ve been very well compensated for that discretion,’ she thought.

Hermione was really feeling out of her depth at this point. Was she really contemplating agreeing to this madness?

Doubt began to show on her face.

“I’ll require a wizarding oath from you on our agreement, of course. That will insure that you will not change your mind and attempt to rid yourself of the child later.”

“You don’t ask much do you?” she said snappishly.

“I’m risk great deal,” he snarled. “If my Occlumency skills somehow fail me when I’m questioned, my Master will murder me. He may indeed torture me regardless for “allowing” your escape, but it’s a risk I’m prepared to take for the future of my family.” 

Hermione examined his grim visage and realized he was telling the truth. She shivered.

‘Could she do this if it meant both her freedom and life would be returned to her? Carry and raise a Death Eater’s child? She only had two days left. If Professor Dumbledore and her friends didn’t find her in time she was equally sure that Lucius would carry out his orders and cast the killing curse on her. Would they understand? Could they understand?’ the thoughts ran like a torrent through her head.

Hermione shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. It was a self-soothing technique, a childish habit, which she’d long since thought she’d eliminated. Whenever she’d been overwhelmed, stressed or frightened her parents would often find her in a corner somewhere quietly rocking.

‘Her parents would want her to live no matter what the case. She had no doubts where their love was concerned but her friends were another matter. Harry might understand but Ron…Ron would never understand’ she thought as a wrenching pain tore through her heart.

“Be still,” she heard from the man beside her, as he put his hands on her arms, and shook her hard once.

Hermione’s head snapped back and she stopped rocking.

“Well?” he drawled almost casually.

Hermione somewhat in a daze she licked her now dry lips. 

Lucius hands tightened almost painfully on her upper arms.

“I want to live,” she whispered.

“Good,” said Malfoy shortly. 

“Delb!” he called.

The house elf popped into the room directly in front of them. He bowed low in front of Lucius.

“Yes, master?” 

“A sharp knife and a clean cloth,” he ordered.

Lucius turned back to her.

“The rite will have to be hasty and lacking the normal formalities but it will be none the less lawful,” he said brusquely. 

“Rite,” she said faintly. She couldn’t believe this all wasn’t some sort of nightmare she was experiencing.

“The wizard’s oath if you recall is considered one of our society’s most sacred rites.” he said as the house elf popped back in and laid the items on the table nearest them.

The house elf looked at his master.

“That’s all, be gone,” he ordered, and the elf disappeared after dropping the knife and cloth on the sofa beside them.

“I thought you needed my wand for the oath?” she said hoping that somehow she’d find one last way to try and escape her fate.

“Weak, a very weak attempt, Hermione,” he said cruelly. “The Oath requires that you swear upon your wand, which is really a metaphor for your power, your physical wand need not be actually present. That is just window-dressing so-to-speak for the ceremony.” 

Lucius retrieved the cloth and knife and turned back towards her.

“What’s the knife for?” she asked nervously.

“A small cut must be made on both our hands first. While they’re still bleeding freely we’ll press our hands together, then I’ll describe the Oath that you are required to support at which point you’ll say your full name and swear upon your wand that you’ll uphold it,” he said.

“That’s it?” she said. 

“All that’s required is the will, girl,” he said, taking up the knife.

“How will we know if it…worked?” she said, trying to delay the inevitable.

“The magic will be very evident,” he replied and then sliced a cut in his palm casually.

Hermione gasped.

“Give me your hand,” he ordered.

Feeling numb, she offered him her hand. He quickly and cleanly made a small cut.

Hermione stared at the blood beginning to flow…it was almost hypnotic.

Lucius placed their palms together.

“I, Lucius Draco Malfoy, offer you both your life and freedom in exchange for you willingly lying with me tonight towards the end of conceiving another male heir for me. Once conception has occurred, you are required to bear the child and raise him under my name. You will make his safety and well-being your foremost priority over any other commitment you might have.”

‘Trapped,’ Hermione thought dismally.

“Your Oath,” he said coldly, snapping her back to reality.

“I, Hermione Jane Granger, swear upon my wand that I will uphold this Oath as described,” she said in a trembling voice, wondering if that was enough.

As her last word fell from her mouth, she felt the magic in the room coalesce and swirl about them. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

Where there hands met, she felt a tingling heat spread out from their palms, and as quickly as it had appeared it retreated.

“Done,” said Malfoy in a satisfied voice. He then removed his hand and wiped the excess blood off of his hand. He handed her the cloth and she did the same. 

He took his wand out of the boot and cast a quick healing charm on his hand and then hers.

He placed the wand back in his left boot and rose.

“Come,” he ordered imperiously, holding his hand out to her as he did.

Hermione felt the last effects of the alcohol slip away and she suddenly was completely and totally sober again.

“Now?” she squeaked, suddenly feeling very wobbly.

Her only answer was a fairly impatient snort from the blond.

As she touched his hand he apparated them.


	2. Morsmorde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione must uphold the bargain she made with Lucius Malfoy.

With a loud pop from the displaced air she found herself back in her bedroom. She quickly withdrew her hand from his and stepped back from Malfoy. The room was alight with dozens of candles and flower arrangements filled the room. It looked like a honeymoon suite.

Ignoring her, Malfoy began to unbutton his white shirt almost casually.

Hermione gulped.

“I’ve got to go to the loo,” she mumbled, and then sprinted into the bathroom and shut the door. She knew better than to lock it as Malfoy could easily open it if she attempted to hide from him.

Her full bladder reminded her that she’d not been lying exactly, so she took care of that first. She carefully washed her hands in the sink afterwards and noted that whatever else he’d done to her magically, her PMS symptoms seemed to have vanished completely.

She looked into the mirror at her white as milk face.

‘Dear Lord,’ she thought. ‘He expects me to let him...’ 

Hermione had decided to stay virginal until she was in pledged in some way to a man. Married or, at least, engaged. Not that her hormones were different from anyone else’s she’d been tempted to go beyond light petting on several occasions with Ron. But the idea of sex for sex’s sake was abhorrent to her. Once the decision had been made Hermione had been quite comfortable with it.

Hermione felt a sharp pang of loss when she thought about Ron. He had finally started to take their relationship seriously and had managed to gather the courage to officially ask her out on a date when she’d visited the Burrow during a week in July. Her parents and his family had teased them both gently but mercilessly about “finally” getting to the point, but there had been no malice in it and a genuine feeling of happiness for the couple. Feeling a little faint she, turned on the taps and splashed cold water on her face, then patted it dry with a hand towel

A knock on the door broke up her reverie.

“Come out, girl,” she heard Malfoy say.

Her legs felt numb and stiff as she reached for the door and opened it. Her face hot, she reentered the bedroom with great trepidation. A quick glance showed that the house-elf had already put fresh sheets on the bed and the duvet was already turned down waiting for them.  
Malfoy was standing in the center of the room his arms crossed over his bare chest. His pants were still on; but he’d removed his boots so he stood there in his bare feet. 

‘Damn, the man! He looks completely in control even when he’s half-naked,’ she thought peevishly.

Heart thudding in double time rhythm she was unable to stop gaping at him, her gaze running up and down his body. His chest showed a well developed musculature while being almost hairless. What hair there was ran in a thin blond trail down his stomach and into his pants. 

The wizard, despite being middle-aged, exhibited no signs of softening or extra weight around his stomach which was flat as a washboard. His legs looked very long and supple in the expensive black trousers that he wore. 

Looking at him, she could easily be fooled into believing him to be ten years younger than the current forty years plus Hermione knew him to be. 

‘He must take very good care of himself to look so,’ she thought idly.

“I take it you like what you’re seeing,” he said, preening under her appreciative gaze.

Hermione, who’d at that moment, had been busily inspecting the way his trousers hugged his buttocks, turned her head away in complete mortification. She felt overwhelming sense of shame to have even allowed her thoughts to wander down that road. 

‘You stupid girl. He’s your enemy. You can’t trust him. He hates you and your friends. He’d kill you now if you weren’t useful to him,’ her common sense scolded her.

The silence began to linger as she continued to stare steadfastly at the floor, refusing to look back at the man. She found herself twisting her hands fretfully in front of her in an attempt to break the tension in the room. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she sent a fleeting look at him, trying to read his facial expression. 

‘Why do I even care what he’s thinking?’ she asked herself. 

It was a rhetorical question really, though. He could make this occasion very painful and unpleasant if he chose to do so. Malfoy was in complete control of what happened between them and that thought was entirely terrifying in and of itself. His neutral expression gave nothing away. She didn’t know whether he was disgusted, angry or even lust-filled at the idea of their coupling. It was quite unnerving. 

“Come here,” he said, waving her forward.

Hearing the note of command in his voice, Hermione inwardly bristled, wanting badly to disobey him but her inner voice cautioned against direct disobedience. There might be serious repercussions if she were to anger the man at this most delicate of moments.

She moved cautiously to him not knowing what to expect. Once she was within arms length she stayed as still as possible. Lucius reached back and removed the black ribbon holding his shining golden mane away from his face. His shoulder length hair fell forward around his face. He dropped the ribbon to the floor. 

‘Run’ screamed one part of her mind while the other whispered ‘stay, you know you have to.’

Torn between two equally strong directives she did nothing and Malfoy’s hands came up to frame her face. He tilted her head towards him and lowered his lips to hers. Hermione shut her eyes tightly in denial. 

‘He shouldn’t kiss me,’ she thought, ‘kissing is for lovers.’

Hermione felt a gentle touch of warm lips slowly stroking against her own. She suddenly remembered to breath, and gasped to draw in some much needed air. Malfoy immediately took advantage and his tongue moved snake-like into her mouth to ruthlessly explore it. One of his hands then dropped to her waist and pulled her in tightly to his body. She could feel his hardness pressing against her stomach. Unconsciously, she started to move her hips against him. Lucius growled into her mouth. 

‘I did that,’ she thought dazedly, ‘I made him want me.’

Feeling a rush of feminine power she never known until now, she lifted her arms and looped them around his neck. Malfoy broke the kiss off abruptly leaving her breathless. Hermione’s eyes shot open to see him looking down at her, his eyes boring holes into her. 

‘Oh Gods,’ she thought. ‘He must think me a slut,’ she thought, embarrassed at how quickly she’d forgotten that he was the enemy.

But he didn’t seem angry or contemptuous; in fact, he looked rather pleased which caused her to shiver all over.

“Touch me,” he said.

Bypassing thought and following her instincts, Hermione dropped one of her arms from around his neck. She took that free hand and touched her fingers to his chest, trailing them along until she stopped at one of his pink, flat nipples. Her long fingers circled the aureole gently, inspecting and investigating his body shyly.

This drew a low rumble of approval from Malfoy much to her surprise and delight. Feeling bolder now, Hermione lowered her head to the nipple, first kissing it and then proceeding to lick it softly in small, cat-like strokes. Hermione felt the hair at the back of her head grabbed and Malfoy pulled her away from him. She panicked a little wondering if she had done something wrong.

The Death Eater reached down to the front of her robes and started rapidly to untie the laces that made up the bodice front of her robe. Once Lucius finished that he pulled the robes over her head and dropped them to the floor. She stood shivering in her underclothes. Malfoy ran his hands down and picked up one foot and then the other removing her shoes and flinging them into the corner. 

When he finished he inspected his prize his eyes burning a trail over her body.

Hermione felt foolish and very vulnerable standing there in her thin slip, undergoing his detailed inspection. Her breasts, she knew, were too big and her hips were too far too curvaceous for the current fashion of the day. But up until now, it hadn’t been a problem, as she’d always been able to hide her generous curves under her school robes. 

‘Don’t be silly darling,’ her mother had told her on more than one occasion, ‘men adore a woman with curves as you’ll find out one day,’ she said laughing.

Hermione turned her head away, reluctant to meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see. She hadn’t found a brassiere in the wardrobe to wear only this slip and the small underpants that she wore beneath it so the outlines of her hardening nipples showed clearly against the silk of the slip. She jumped as she felt his hands caressing both of her breasts and fingers pushing her slip down to expose them to his sight. 

“Beautiful,” she heard him say. “If I’d known you had such stunning assets I’d have imprisoned you long before this,” he said with a dark chuckle.

Feeling stung by what she believed to be his mockery Hermione stiffened in his arms. Malfoy turned her head back and locked gazes with her. She felt that now familiar itch but he broke the contact after a few seconds.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked silkily.

He lowered his head and whispered into her ear, “I’d have stolen you away, brought you to one of my houses, and chained you to my bed for my pleasure,” he said in a lust roughened voice.

Hermione felt an initial rush of pleasure at the confirmation of his attraction, but then was quickly replaced by horror and shame.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ her mind raged, ‘he’s talking about sexual slavery. He’s an evil, dark wizard and you’re practically begging for his attentions…what kind of woman are you?’

While her mind was still whirling Malfoy pushed the slip further down, this time past her hips and it dropped with a silken hush to the floor. Now only her underpants remained to protect the last remnants of her modesty.

Hermione’s body shook as she felt his lips begin to kiss, lick and nibble, at first one breast, and then the other. He murmured something quite incoherent against them and her brain completely shut down allowing her sensual side to commandeer her body once more.

Lucius bit her nipple sharply and she squeaked breathlessly in reaction. He then took one of her hands and placed it on his crotch. Hermione blushed at the hardness she found there, but tentatively began to stroke her over his bulge, knowing now that he liked touch to be reciprocal. He hissed in pleasure, and gaining more confidence, Hermione found herself starting to gently squeeze his cock, much to his gratification if his now ferocious facial expression was any indication of his approval.

“Enough,” he said roughly, compelling Hermione to reluctantly remove her hand.

Malfoy put both his hands onto Hermione’s breasts and started to stroke the nipples with his thumbs. Her nipples hardened still more and she felt a low ache between her legs begin.

“You’re like a ripe peach just waiting to be tasted,” he said, his face now showing some strain.

His warm hands moved from her breasts causing her to emit a whimper of loss but he soothingly stroked down her sides until he reached her last scrap of clothing that clung to her body. Malfoy slipped his fingers into the white cotton and slipped it down her hips where it fell to her feet. 

“Step out of them,” he ordered.

Hermione did as she was instructed but was overcome with a burst of shyness as Malfoy started to remove his trousers and looked away from him.

‘So this is it then. The man I lose my virginity to…who ends up changing my life forever. No love or even affection involved, I’m just a tool for him to achieve his ends. I could be anyone really so long as my body could be used as an incubator,’ she thought sadly.

“You think too much, Hermione,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, surprising her by using her first name. 

He pulled her head around with his hands so that she was looking at him. “Enjoy the moment because, in the end, that’s all any of us has,” he said cynically.

Hermione’s eyes skittered downwards almost unconsciously. His very large erect cock was directly in front of her only inches away from her stomach. Hermione’s only previous experience with adult male anatomy had been the naughty calendar that Lavender Brown had somehow smuggled into the Gryffindor Girl’s Dorm that featured the wizards of the French National Quidditch Team in the nude. From what she could see Lucius Malfoy had nothing to be ashamed of in that area. 

Fascinated, Hermione hesitated at first and then reached out to touch it. She ran her fingers up its length, surprised when she encountered liquid near the tip. Malfoy grunted loudly then grabbed her hard around the waist picking her up like a rag doll and tossed her onto the bed. 

“Merde,” Malfoy said, cursing in French.

Shocked by the violent action she’d produced, she raised her head to see Malfoy crawling up the bed on his hands and knees, not unlike some enormous lion stalking her. His powerful shoulder muscles rippled and his long blond hair swung loosely around him like a golden halo as he moved up the bed carefully approaching her. 

“He looks like a debauched angel,’ she thought, as she propped herself up off the mattress on her elbows to watch him approach, feeling a thrill small of anticipation run up her spine. 

As soon as he was adjacent to her, he sat back on his heels regarding her steadily. Hermione blushed and curled her knees up tightly against her body, her arms moving to wrap protectively around them. Malfoy placed both his hands on her knees and started to pry them apart. Reluctantly, Hermione allowed him access, knowing that protest would useless. She had agreed to this. 

His hands stroked down her inner thighs causing her to tremble as he approached her feminine center. Hermione shifted under his touch and realized with some mortification that although he continued only to stroke her inner and outer thighs that she was already…wet. Her toes curled tightly on the bed’s duvet when he finally reached down with a hand to run his fingers lightly through her pubic curls. She yelped involuntarily as she felt a calloused finger stroke her clitoris directly. 

“Too sensitive?” he asked.

She nodded reluctantly. Malfoy smirked as he felt the moistness of her curls as he continued to stroke her gently. Hermione gasped when she felt two fingers push their way into her. It wasn’t painful exactly, but it was a little uncomfortable as she wasn’t used to be stretched in that way. 

“Nice and tight,” the blond Death Eater purred at her.

As his fingers started to move in and out of her, Lucius also began to brush his thumb over her clitoris. Hermione found herself arching into that touch as it felt very, very good. While his hand was busy Lucius lowered his head and captured her lips in an aggressive kiss. Hermione moaned into his mouth as his tongue started to dart in and out in a teasing manner while his fingers kept busily playing with her feminine parts down below. It felt so much more exciting having Lucius exploring her far more than when she was touching herself. 

She cried out in loss as she felt him remove his fingers and his mouth from her and, in retribution, dug her nails into his arms as he moved over her. As he covered her she could see that his eyes were almost completely dilated with arousal. 

“You’re ready,” he said hoarsely as moved his hips to align with hers.

He fumbled a bit with himself and then Hermione felt the blunt head of his cock pushing into her. The further he pushed the more painful the sensation became and she grimaced. Hermione flashed back to a discussion she had with Lavender Brown.

‘Honestly, you might want to at least get some toys, you know. That way even if you don’t want to with Ron right now, you can at least get comfortable with your body,” she’d told Hermione.

Hermione was bitterly regretting her lack of preparation now as she almost mewled with discomfort. He felt enormous.

“Relax, or it will be even worse,” he commanded her.

Hermione took a deep breath trying to ease the tension in her body. The strain eased a little although she still felt overwhelmed by the invasion

“Wrap your legs around my hips,” he breathed.

“This is horrible,” she thought. She’d never felt so vulnerable, so exposed in all her life, but she now wanted this over as quickly as possible, with the least amount of discomfort involved.

Malfoy grunted as she moved to comply, but stroked her hip in what appeared to be approval, as she locked her ankles together behind him.

The arousal and excitement she’d felt earlier had all but disappeared until Malfoy reached down to where they’re bodies were joined. His fingers stroked her clitoris back and forth and she gasped in delight. That felt much so very delicious, better then anything she had ever done to herself. Her body unconsciously clenched around him a moan escaping from her lips. 

Mortified by her inadvertent vocalization she turned her head away from him so that he could no longer see her expression. She felt him remove his tantalizing fingers from her nub catching her face with his hand. 

“No, I want to see you,” he ordered, his grip cruelly pinching her chin, as he turned her head back towards him.

“You’re hurting me,” she gasped, knowing that he’d leave marks.

His eyes narrowed but he released her face. He then braced himself with his arms; pulling almost completely out of her and then plunging forcefully back into her. Hermione hissed in shock while Malfoy smirked down at her with an evil expression crossing his face. 

“Hermione, you’re not really in a position to dictate are you?” he demanded.

“No…”

“Lucius,” he crooned. “Say it. Say my name,” he said as rocked a little inside her.

Unnerved by what he might do if angered, she breathed out the word, “Lucius.”

“Good,” he growled.

His golden hair was spilling over her breasts and Hermione shivered at that feeling of the hair spilling over her body. Malfoy…Lucius immediately picked up on this susceptibility. He leant down kissing and licking her breasts, his hair caressing her as he moved along. Hermione felt a painful sharp nip on her left breast. Without thinking about it, she caught his shining hair tightly in her hands and tried to pull him off of her. Pain was not part of the process as far as she was concerned. After several hard tugs to get his attention he finally lifted his head and ended up inches from her mouth. Following some deeply hidden instinct she found herself touching his face gently and she angled her head trying to invite him into a kiss. 

Accepting her wordless invitation Lucius pounced immediately. Hermione felt like a small boat tossed about by a gale force wind. Lucius forced her mouth open and invaded boldly taking everything she could give him. Almost without conscious thought, she wound her arms around his back and clung to him. Finally, after ruthlessly exploring her mouth, he tore it away and commenced moving his hips. Lucius kept his gaze locked with hers as thrust in and out of her, in a more or less, regular fashion. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hermione noted that the last tinges of pain had gone. She breathed somewhat easier believing now the worst was over. Instead there was a rather pleasant feeling, both inside and out, as he moved his hips in forceful fashion.

“Dear Merlin,” she thought. ‘I never thought it would feel this brilliant.’

Lucius had started out slowly, but now, ratcheted up both the force and pacing of his thrusts. Intermittently, Lucius was hitting the perfect pleasure spot for her, and Hermione twisted her hips trying to seek more of it, which drew a heartfelt moan out of the man atop her.

She wanted more, needed it. She heard distantly a sound of need come from her mouth. Hermione’s pride and self-esteem were quickly taking a backseat to the increasing physical need their coupling was starting to bring her. She found hands dropping down from his back and she dug her nails sharply into his buttocks as he moved. Lucius swore profusely and stilled immediately. 

Hermione worried that she had done something dreadful, that hadn’t pleased him, because otherwise why would he have stopped?

Reading the hesitant expression on her face, Malfoy chuckled.

“Silly chit, your….enthusiastic reception is most welcome. I’m not inclined, however, to allow this rather pleasing interlude to come to a rather abrupt ending,” he ruefully admitted.

Hermione blinked somewhat surprised by his admission. She had excited him? Testing this theory, she dragged her hands down his back, digging her nails in sharply as she went. The Death Eater, she now cradled in her hips, hissed in pleasure. Hermione, for the first time in her life, reveled in her feminine power. Hermione, feeling a surge of possessiveness wash over her, wanted to mark him, bite him, and somehow force him to acknowledge their connection.

“You want to play with me?” he asked with an evil-looking leer.

“Lucius…” she began apprehensively, watching him carefully.

But before she could say more he clamped down with his teeth where the juncture of her neck and shoulder met. Pain exploded and she squealed in anger. In retaliation, she bit into the side of his neck hard—drawing blood. Lucius grunted in pain. Shocked, and feeling rather penitent at the site of his blood running down his neck, she started to lap up the blood gently laving it away with her tongue. Hermione pushed his blond hair away and methodically cleaned him with her tongue until the last trickle of blood was gone. Lucius had held himself quite still during the process the only sound emanating from him was his breath coming in deep pants. 

She barely had time to blink before Lucius, in one powerful move, had rolled them over so that their positions were reversed. By holding her hips steady Lucius had managed to keep his cock deeply imbedded in her when he’d flipped them. The breathless, somewhat stunned girl was now atop Lucius, not quite sure how to proceed. Reaching for the damp curls at her core, Lucius repeatedly stroked and teased her clitoris with the tips of his fingers, while monitoring her reactions closely. 

Hermione whimpered and placed both palms on his chest trying to lift slightly off him to allow him even greater access. Using her hands for balance, and her knees on either side of him to push up, she managed to create a breadth of space for him to work with.

‘Oh yes, right there,’ she thought, as each slightly rough stroke of his fingers brought fresh waves of delight.

Hermione, lost in sensation, was rapidly losing any inhibitions she might have had as his other hand began pinching and pulling on her nipples.

‘Just a little bit more,’ she thought, as she felt herself nearing orgasm, her tension rising higher and higher.

Lucius, with no warning, removed his hand from her now dripping curls.

“Noooo!” she wailed, then slapped his chest with both her hands in angry frustration.

His once cold blue eyes now agleam with passion, Lucius grabbed her hips hard enough to leave bruises later, and rolled them back into their prior position. Before she even had a chance to regain her breath, the blond began to pound into her mercilessly, all remaining constraints on his passion now removed. The bed creaked and the headboard began to smack against the wall with the force of his thrusts. Hermione moaned and clung to him whispering occasional breathless words of encouragement into his ear. 

Lucius whose head until now had lolled to one side of her neck as he pounded her into the mattress moved it to lock gazes with her as his orgasm approached. Rather than humiliate her, the idea of him watching her come now, was incredibly arousing for her. She whimpered again as he started to painfully grind out words as she met his thrusts. 

“You love me fucking you don’t you?” he hissed out the question. “You want to be mine don’t you?” he rasped, and when she didn’t answer immediately he slowed his hips down.

“Answer me!” he demanded roughly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want this. I want you,” she gasped, her need driving her.

Her pride, self-respect and identity had all been burned away before her need to have this man. Lucius groaned and swore as Hermione unconsciously tightened her inner muscles around his cock. Her lover’s violent movements were providing just enough pressure and friction to move her towards her orgasm. She clawed and scratched at him while trying to reach orgasm, while he groaned his pleasure above her, his hips snapping faster and faster. She was held suspended in building waves of pleasure until it suddenly snapped causing her to scream and arch her body, her toes curling as the waves of bliss crashed over her. Seconds later, she heard Lucius growl loudly as he thrust hard once more, stilling as he strained to drive himself as deep as possible while he ejaculated his warm seed into her. 

Still riding the euphoria of orgasm, she barely noted that Lucius had collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. The weight of him felt right to her somehow and she found herself tightening her arms around his back, trying to hold on to this feeling.

As she felt her own breath begin to steady, Hermione felt Lucius’ cock soften and start to slip out of her. She felt Lucius push his weight off of her and then rolled himself onto his back so that he was lying beside her.

Her body, still humming with the last echoes of physical gratification, combined with her physical and mental exhaustion was rapidly pushing her body towards sleep. She heard her lover move and then felt the covers pulled over them both. 

‘He’s my lover now. Lucius Malfoy is my lover,’ she thought in some astonishment as she yawned.

The last thing she clearly remembered was Lucius spooning up against her body after pulling the duvet over them both. Hermione could feel his heart thumping gently in his chest against her back as she fell into a dreamless sleep nestled in the warm cocoon that he’d created for them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione felt herself surface slowly from a deep sleep slowly. She was comfortable and warm and didn’t want to leave her bed. 

‘Surely she could skip breakfast this morning and just go straight to class,’ she thought fuzzily.

As she cracked her eyes open, she caught sight of where her robe had been flung carelessly on the floor, and then her memories began flooding back. Lucius. The agreement. Last night. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare then,” she mumbled to herself, trying to take stock of the situation.

After a few deep breaths Hermione blushed. The room absolutely reeked of sex. She sat up in the bed and winced as she turned. She was a tiny bit sore down there and…sticky? 

“Oh, dear Merlin,” she said, dropping her face into her hands as guilt rushed over her.

She was a traitor. She’d willingly slept with a Death Eater and promised to carry his child, all in order to save her own miserable life. She might, at some point, be forgiven by her friends but she’d never be completely trusted by them—ever again. 

‘Get a grip, my girl,’ her inner voice said. ‘You’re alive and that’s what counts isn’t it?’ But her heart refused to be comforted.

Just then, the door to the bathroom opened, and Lucius came out only clad in a towel that was tied in a loose knot around his hips. He looked her over sharply before speaking.

“Get up and get washed and dressed. We’ve much to do. I’ll meet in the drawing room in half an hour,” he ordered brusquely.

Hermione looked over the bed only to see that her robes were too far away to reach. She looked up again as Lucius as he stepped in front of the antique mirror threading his hands through his damp hair. 

“Delb,” he called.

“Yes, master,” the elf said, popping into the room.

“Bring me a fresh set of clothes as well as my toiletries and then clean this place up,” he ordered.

Hermione snapped herself out of her paralysis.

‘Its absurd to suffering from some sort of maidenly vapors at this point, the man has seen me have an orgasm for Merlin’s sake,’ she thought completely irritated with her own foolishness.

Hermione pushed the covers back, got to her feet, and forced herself to walk calmly into the bathroom. To her relief Lucius never even looked in her direction. Well, what did she expect? It was a business agreement…of sorts. 

Under the pulsing hot water she worked to remove all traces of her nocturnal activities with Lucius. She washed her body several times until it was almost raw. She saw some shampoo and picked it up. It had a delicious floral scent that reminded her of lily-of-the-valley her mum raised in her garden.

‘Well, why not?’ she thought.

After two rinses, she squeezed the remaining water from her hair, roughly toweling it dry. Hermione quickly patted the rest of her body dry with the remaining towel. It was the best she could hope to do without the use of her wand.

She opened the door to the bedroom cautiously, but Lucius was gone by then.

The room had been cleaned to a fare thee well, the bed made and the slightly musty smell of their sexual encounter had been removed entirely from the room. Her robe from the night before was gone from the floor and on the bed was a royal purple robe with demure neckline laid out as well as underclothes. On the floor beside the bed was a dainty set of matching shoes. Wearily, with a small sigh she began to pull on her clothes.


	3. Morsmorde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's bargain has begun to take shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third and last chapter of Morsmorde. This is an older story but as an alternate reality stands the test of time I believe. If there is interest in me writing the follow up story I intended (long ago) please let me know.

By the time she reached the drawing room, Lucius was already there sipping his coffee and looking over some papers. Hermione hesitated before sitting down, Lucius hadn’t even acknowledged her presence, perhaps he was already regretting his alliance with a muggle born witch? Maybe he had even had second thoughts? 

Without looking up from the parchment she heard him say, “Sit down girl and stop hovering there.”

She felt weak with relief. He certainly didn’t sound as if his intentions were currently of the murderous variety. In fact, he looked rather relaxed. Hermione sat down feeling very young and inexperienced. How did one stop feeling gauche and awkward in such a situation? And what did someone say to a man they’d just been intimate with? She turned her attention to the breakfast table. Goodness the house elf had provided enough food to feed a dozen people. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast as well as tea, coffee and juice sat on the table. She poured some coffee for herself and added some cream. She sipped it for a few minutes in silence. She jumped when he finally spoke again. 

“Eat something,” he said, looking up from his papers, a small frown appearing on his face.

Hermione shifted in her seat, unsettled by his piercing gaze. 

“I don’t really eat much at breakfast,” she mumbled as she looked down at the table.

“You will now,” he said firmly.

At her puzzled look he elucidated slowly and clearly.

“The baby?” he said arching his eyebrow.

Hermione immediately paled feeling quite faint. She might be pregnant, now, this very moment.

“Maybe it didn’t take,” she whispered, trying to hold onto some infinitesimal hope that her life wasn’t about to go totally pear-shaped on her.

Lucius laughed.

“I assure you child, those charms have never failed when wielded by a competent wizard.”

Hermione felt slightly sick as her last meager hope went down in flames. Lucius Malfoy was many things, but an inept wizard wasn’t one of them.

At that moment Hermione wanted nothing more than to run home to her mother to receive comfort.

“When can I go home?” she asked in a small voice.

Lucius sobered and rose from the table. “I have some fire calls to make in order to make the arrangements. The house elf will come for you when I’ve completed them. Until then eat your breakfast and amuse yourself as best you can.” 

‘Amuse myself? What am I a child?’ she thought with a spark of anger.

But the door shut and he was gone before she could come up with a sufficiently withering retort.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After breakfast, she had retreated to her bedroom where she’d sat examining the dreadful situation she’d found herself in from every angle, desperately looking for some loophole in the nightmarish situation she had found herself agreeing to.

In the end, she could find no way around it. She’d taken a wizard’s oath. If she chose to break that vow, her power as a witch would be destroyed, snuffed out. She would become the equivalent of a squib, but in many ways far worse off, because she’d actually had been gifted with power something that squibs did not normally experience and therefore wouldn’t theoretically miss. 

She shuddered. It was completely unthinkable. She would not give up that part of herself.

But if she had this baby, her life would change in the most profound of ways. She would no longer be Hermione Granger, good friend to Harry Potter, girlfriend of Ron Weasley, a talented, clever witch with a bright future. She’d become known as someone who’d willingly consorted with a Death Eater, mother to his child and outcast to polite society let alone anything to do with the Order.

She put her face in her hands and wept bitterly. Two hours later, the house elf found her sleeping, exhausted by a long bout of tears and overwrought emotion. “Miss, miss,’ he said, gently shaking her. 

“Whaaa?” she asked sleepily.

“Master wishes to see you in the library,” it said.

“All right, just give me a moment,” she said in a scratchy voice, stumbling towards the bathroom in order to empty her bladder, and attempt to clear away the damning evidence of her tears.

‘You’ve got to pull yourself together. You can’t afford to fall apart now; you’re so close to reaching freedom. Concentrate on that,’ she told herself. 

After splashing some cold water on her face and relieving herself she headed down to the library. As she entered Malfoy was just finishing up a fire call. She heard him sign off with, ‘I’ll be expecting to hear from you then within the next fortnight,” as he signed off. 

She couldn’t see who he’d been talking to, by looking over his shoulder.

“Sit,” he ordered, waving at a chair.

Irritated by his snapping orders at her, she threw a glare his way, but it was difficult to look even vaguely threatening, when you still had red, swollen eyes from a recent crying jag. Hermione gathered together her now slightly wrinkled robes, and sat down in the armchair closest to him. She would have to choose her battles carefully with this man her inner voice admonished her. Lucius continued to loom over her rather than sit down near her.

‘Showing me he’s still in charge,’ she thought sourly, looking down at the tips of her shoes peeking out from under her robe.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I’ve made arrangements through a contact in Ministry of Magic to divulge the information, anonymously of course, concerning your whereabouts to the Aurors,” he said. 

Hermione’s heart lifted. 

“When?” she asked eagerly as her hands began to shake with excitement. He really was going to keep his word about releasing her. 

“At noon today, I anticipate. You’ll be free shortly thereafter,” he said. “That is, unless, they somehow manage to bollocks this up, as they have been inclined to do, upon occasion,” he said contemptuously.

“I’ll have left by then, but the wards will still be left in place. They’ll have to work to get you out. To do otherwise would alert the Dark Lord to a possible set-up which, as you can imagine, is neither profitable nor desired on our part,” he said dryly.

“Won’t he think it odd that you just happened to be away when the Aurors do arrive?” she asked.

“Still thinking on your feet I see, Brava my dear,” he smirked.

Hermione squirmed under the light mocking.

“My master would, of course, under normal circumstance be quite…skeptical had he not himself specified prior to this that I meet with him today regarding this very issue,” he said with a self-satisfied smile.

“At noon no doubt,” she replied.

“As you say,” he said nodding at her quick uptake.

The aristocrat studied her for a moment and then continued. “Give the Aurors no information when they question you. Say only that you were aware you’d been kidnapped but never knew the identity of your captor. And that you were quite alone until your rescue,” he said. 

“I’m not going to lie in order to protect you,” she snapped at him.

Lucius reached down and yanked her to feet leaving her breathless.

“Stupid girl,” he said shaking her once, gently, as he gritted out the words. “This is about protecting you and the child,” he snarled.

His grip on her arms was painful and Hermione was afraid she had, once again, allowed her tongue to lead her into serious trouble.

“What do you mean?” she asked shakily.

Malfoy took a deep breath and loosened the hold he had on her. “Your faith in your friends is touching, misguided but touching. The Order might choose to leak such a tasty tidbit of information to my master in order to cause a disruption in the ranks of the Death Eaters.” 

“And that would be bad how?” Hermione said coolly.

Lucius ran his hand through his hair with an air of frustration. “Because, if my duplicity were to be discovered I would be as good as dead and if I am dead I cannot act to safeguard you and my son,” he said, patiently explaining as though she were a child. 

“I don’t need your protection. I can take care of myself,” she said, well and truly annoyed that he’d think her incompetent and incapable of caring for her child.

Lucius frowned ferociously at her. “You are aware that our child would be at great risk for anyone who chose to take exception to his paternity? Surely you’re not naïve enough to think that the Dark Lord would stop with just my punishment?” he asked.

At her doubtful expression, he continued methodically shredding her hope. “Indeed, I should be very surprised if he didn’t choose to try and make an example of you, thereby demonstrating the very great disfavor he holds for the idea of an alliance between a pureblood and mudblood,” he said. 

“That’s rich, considering he’s a half-blood himself,” she mumbled.

“And his suffering at the hands of his muggle father has caused an implacable hatred of all things muggle. Having administered the killing curse himself once upon a baby, albeit spectacularly unsuccessfully, do you have any doubt he’d be willing to have one of his Death Eaters do so to our baby?” he sighed.

Hermione gnawed worriedly at her bottom lip. She hated it when he was right.

“To say nothing of other enemies the child might have,” he continued, looking away from her pointedly.

Hermione, trying to grapple the enormity of the danger and challenges she and the baby faced, grabbed at his sleeve, tugging on it to turn his attention back to her.

“What other enemies?” she demanded.

“Surely you don’t believe that a child of mine wouldn’t elicit some rather negative reactions from among the more extreme members of Dumbledore’s camp?” he opined.

“I’ve met some of them,” she said cautiously. They’re good people, I’m certain that they’d never hurt an innocent child intentionally,” she said firmly.

“Oh, and you feel you can freely speak for all of them?” Malfoy said with some skepticism.

Keeping his insinuation subtle, with a concerned voice, he added, “Even those, perhaps, who’ve lost a family member in this conflict? There will always be some, I fear, that will neither forgive nor forget easily,” he said mildly, reaching out to stroke her wayward hair.

“That’s not the babies fault,” she said vehemently. “He can’t be held responsible for your actions,” she said desperately.

“Your faith in humanity is far greater than mine apparently,” Lucius said dryly.

Hermione was beginning to feel beleaguered at every turn. As much as she loathed the idea of deception, Lucius did make a great deal of sense regarding the issue of safety.

“The best way to ensure your security is to scrupulously control the release of information concerning your situation.” 

“You’re telling me not to trust anyone,” she said flatly.

“Certainly, at least, not until conditions are more safe to do so,” he replied smoothly.

“Those conditions might never be met,” Hermione said sharply.

“Admittedly, it is a scenario that might play itself out,” he said. 

Abruptly, Malfoy stopped teasing her hair and gave her a sharp look. “Forgive me, but you seem to be more than a little pale. Perhaps it would be better if we sat down to continue this discussion more comfortably,” he said, while gently herding her towards the sofa where she sat down. 

Lucius briefly hesitated, and then sat down beside her, half-turned so that he could face her. Slowly so as not to startle her and, in an almost a tender gesture, he brought his hands up to her to knead at her tense neck muscles with his hands. Hermione, who had made the leap from anxious to overwrought in the past few minutes, almost moaned at the release from tension his strong fingers provided. 

“I won’t lie to my parents. I can’t,” she said, as her neck and shoulder muscles started to unknot.

“No indeed. You’ll need their cooperation in order to leave Hogwarts,” he replied.

Hermione spluttered indignantly. “What are you talking about? I’m not leaving Hogwarts,” she said, exasperated by his assumptions.

Lucius dropped his hands from her as she wiggled away.

“You’ll have to transfer to Beauxbatons, of course. The administrators will be pleased; I’m sure, to accept an honor student at your level. And, as they do accept day students at the institution, you’ll be able to make use of one of my safe houses in Toulon, not far from the school,” he continued riding roughshod over any possible objections.

“You’ve gone completely crackers if you think that I’ll do that. “I’m not going to leave Hogwarts and abandon my family and friends. You’ll just have to get that entire idea out of your head, right now,” she said, baring her teeth at him at the same time.

Malfoy reached out and laid his hand on her belly. Hermione made an aborted movement backwards but Lucius held her still with his free hand easily. “And how long do you think it would it be before Dumbledore would be able to extract information from you regarding your…activities with me?” he asked, stroking her belly almost affectionately. 

Hermione’s throat started to close. She hadn’t considered the Legilimens skills of the Headmaster. 

‘Gods,’ she thought. ‘He’s making me suspicious of all my friends now, I’m not like that, and I refuse to be.’

“He wouldn’t say anything, not if I asked him to keep it secret,” she said steadily.

Lucius snorted, removing his hand from her stomach, but keeping a firm grip on her arm.

“And what about your friends?” he asked, continuing his rapid fire questioning. 

Hermione scrunched her face up in sheer frustration as he continued to outline the complexities of her circumstances.

“Even if you managed to conceal your entire pregnancy from them, how could you begin to hide the knowledge of your son’s existence from them? Especially, if you’re as close to them as you seem to indicate,” he asked with infuriating calm.

Hermione’s mind raced searching for an answer to the issue. Surely, she wouldn’t have to give up everything?

“I could say he’s adopted. That my parents are taking care of him in lieu of a cousin who passed away,” she said, grasping at proverbial straws.

Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of relief at providing an answer that would allow her a least a modicum of normality.

Lucius’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Clever, but far from failsafe, my dear,” Lucius said with an irritating drawl. “Anyone, should they became curious enough, could do a simple paternity charm that would immediately settle the issue of his parentage entirely.” 

Lucius began to wind some of Hermione’s long chestnut hair around his fingers as he continued to speak. “No, the more people that know the truth, the higher the level of risk will become. There is little question that you must sever your ties almost wholly,” he said simply, cutting away her support system with almost surgical precision.

“They’ll never believe that I’d abandon them like that,” she said. “They’d know something was wrong.”

“Not if they received an occasional owl from you detailing your new happy circumstance. Suffice to say that without any signs of distress they’ll be unlikely to investigate any further.”

Hermione shook her head slowly in negation. “Harry and Ron will never believe it,” she said contemplatively. “They know me and they know I’d never run away,” Hermione told him.

“That’s where your parents come into it, Hermione. Think girl, what would any parent’s first reaction be to a near death experience involving their child?”

“To keep it from happening again, to make sure their child was safe,” she said reluctantly.

“Exactly so, that would be any parents first thought and, therefore, their most likely action,” he said. 

“The Headmaster, as well as your friends, will readily believe your parents wishes to remove you from danger. You as their dutiful daughter will, reluctantly, accede to their wishes.”

“You’ve got this well planned out I see,” she said bitterly. 

Lucius just nodded his head in acknowledgement as though he’d just been complimented.

“Organization, sweetness, is always the key to successful planning,” he said with a wicked grin which made Hermione’s hormones take an unprecedented leap.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You have no right,” she said in some distress.

The grin slowly vanished as his demeanor became sober once more.

“You’ll tell them, truthfully, that you will be undergoing the Fidelius Charm in order to provide your parents with some assurance regarding your ongoing safety, at least until the end of the war. I believe the boy-who-lived will have enough on his plate without over-thinking your change of plans.”

Hermione’s regarding him suspiciously.

“And just who would be my secret keeper?” she asked already guessing at the answer.

“Myself, of course,” he said blandly.

“That wasn’t part of the agreement. What if I don’t want you as my secret keeper? What if I want one of my parents to be my secret keeper,” she said pugnaciously.

Lucius assumed a bored expression.

“You are indeed a Gryffindor to the core my dear. Thank Merlin you have me to guide you,” he sighed. 

Hermione bristled at his condescension.

“Use your head girl, the choice of your parents is much too obvious. If the charm is to be successful in protecting you it must be left with an unanticipated choice.”

Grudgingly, Hermione had to agree. But she didn’t have to like it. It made her uneasy in a way that she couldn’t describe knowing that Lucius would be her only connection to her old life.

Finally, after chewing anxiously on her lower lip for a few minutes, she reluctantly nodded.

“Excellent. I’ll arrange for suitable help to be hired and in place for you when you arrive,” he said smoothly.

“Help... What help?” gasped Hermione, alarmed by the amount of decisions being assumed by Malfoy.

Lucius reached out and again stoked her curly hair gently before dropping his hand once again to his side.

“The very basic necessities my dear,” he said. “The baby will be delivered during the summer break but I’m assuming you’ll want to return to school and complete your education, or am I a wrong?” he asked in a soothing tone.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said stammering a bit. “I want to finish my education.”

“Just so, my dear which means you’ll need at least a minimal staff to give you the necessary assistance. That would most likely consist of a baby nurse to care for our son while you’re away at school during the day, as well as a housekeeper and cook,” he said.

“But…but…” she started to interrupt.

“Oh, and most important, the choice of the mediwitch that you’ll use throughout your pregnancy and delivery,” he said.

“It’s all a little overwhelming,” Hermione said faintly. “My biggest concern up until now has been to study enough to do well on my NEWTS next year. I don’t think I can do this,” she started to gibber

Hermione’s heart began to pound. Perspiration gathered on her upper lip. Her hands started to tremble. She felt as though she were dying. “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this. I won’t. I don’t want to be pregnant. Make it all go away,” she said as she began to hyperventilate. 

“A terminus charm,” she said. Yes, that’s what I want, right now,” she forced out.

Lucius reached over and pulled Hermione up into his lap. He started to stroke her back speaking to her in low tones at the same time. “Slow your breathing,” he coaxed, as he rubbed her back for a few minutes.

“If this were a normal pregnancy I could but, remember sweetness, you’ve already taken the Oath,” he gently chided her.

Hermione found herself clutching at his shoulders in a panic. She desperately needed someone or something to anchor herself to as her world shifted completely on its axis. 

After a few minutes, she found herself relaxing into his arms, lulled by his voice and touch and her breathing began to return to something approaching normal. With his strength and warmth engulfing her she was reluctant to break the contact by shifting away from him. 

“You won’t be alone Hermione, I give you my word. I’ll join you whenever I’m able, as well as providing you with an owl to allow you to get in touch with me whenever you deem necessary” he said, in an effort to placate her.

Hermione lifted her head and looked at him with narrowed and somewhat fearful eyes. “How do I know I can even trust you? You’ve never shown any measure of honesty in any of your dealings before. How do I know you’re not planning to use me in some way? Maybe even take away my baby once he’s born,” she said angrily, trying to reclaim both her equanimity and wit. 

“You don’t obviously,” he said shortly. “Anymore than I can say I’m sure of your intentions. What’s to stop you from turning me into the Order when I attempt to contact you again?”

Hermione, who had indeed turned over just such a possibility in her mind, ended up blushing. “I wouldn’t do that,” she mumbled. 

“Hah! I can see the guilt written all over your face Hermione,” he said playfully.

“Well, I wouldn’t if I had given my word not to,” she grumbled. “A Gryffindor can always be counted upon to keep their word, unlike some others” she said, tilting her chin up. 

Tardily, Hermione realized she was sitting in his lap, like a sulky child being cajoled out of tantrum. With a little undignified wiggling, she managed to remove herself from his lap and back on to the sofa tugging her robes back into some order as she did so.

With a frustrated expression, she crossed her arms over her body in an unconsciously defensive posture, but verbally engaged him again, “May I remind you, that it was I who was kidnapped and, yet, somehow you’ve managed to put me in the wrong,” she replied acerbically.

Lucius smiled. Hermione unaccountably felt her heart lift in response. ‘Stop that,’ her inner voice chastised sharply. ‘A Malfoy’s regard should mean nothing to you. You know better. You’ve made a deal with the devil and now you’ll have to honor it, but you can never let your guard down, not ever,’ the sobering thought washed through her, but instead of bracing her, it somehow managed to make her feel more than a little empty.

“True,” Lucius acknowledged. “But my point is that I have as much to lose, if not more than you. Some small measure of trust must be established between us, don’t you agree?” he asked.

“For now,” she stiffly said.

Hermione was bone-tired both mentally and physically and, thus, incapable of working out to what degree she might be able to trust this mercurial and most difficult of men. She was rendered speechless when Lucius leaned forward and plucked her hand from her lap, laying a light kiss on the back of it. 

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said humbly.

She quickly drew back her hand saying, “Well yes, we’ll just have to see how it goes,” she said with her voice cracking.

Hermione, at this point, didn’t quite really know what to think. A welter of emotions was currently running through her regarding this man that was thoroughly perplexing. She certainly felt anger, disgust and resentment in his presence as his very existence was an anathema to all she believed in but, strangely, Lucius also managed produced a sympathetic surge within her heart.

Hermione’s thoughts flashed back to a day she’d spend in the country with her parents when she’d been around ten years of age. Using binoculars she’d brought, she managed to catch a glimpse of a fox. As she watched, the animal was busily trying to obliterate his original trail by doubling back on it. Hermione had openly admired its guile and beauty.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Hermione,” said her father drawing on his pipe. “To other folk he’d be considered nothing more than vermin, a potential threat to their flocks and livelihood,” he said.

Hermione had agreed reluctantly, but she couldn’t help but secretly hope that the fox would continue to thrive. She shook herself out of her reverie; it was foolish indeed to be comparing the Death Eater with a simple instinct driven fox, if anything, Lucius was more akin to a rabid dog running wildly about threatening to spread his madness to any unsuspecting passerby by way of his bite. In some fundamental way her feelings had changed, the idea now of Malfoy dying in battle or, even worse, facing a Dementor’s kiss filled her with some level of dismay and anxiety. 

Even worse perhaps was the completely inexplicable attraction she felt towards the man. Why on earth should he hold any sort of allure for her? He was clearly an insidious threat to any who dropped within his sphere of his influence. Hermione blushed once she realized that Lucius was patiently waiting for her to re-focus her attention on what he was saying. 

“Sorry, my thoughts wandered a little,” she said. ‘Maybe he’d cast a Confundus Charm on me while I slept? That would certainly go a long way towards explaining my odd feelings’ she thought.

“We don’t have long. I must be away from here soon,” he said with mild reproof.

“Of course, please continue,” she said, clutching her hands tightly together in her lap.

Freedom would be hers shortly.

Epilogue ~~~

Lucius paused in the doorway of the bedroom the Dark Lord occupied and waited to be acknowledged before entering. He had waited until evening to make his report to his Master as they had not set any particular time; he was only to give his account once his mission was completed. Lucius had occluded his mind well before he’d even set foot in the abandoned mansion. Legilimens was not a common skill, but it paid never to assume anything about his fellow Death Eaters. All too often in the battling for political favor a surprise could be sprung that could prove to have deadly consequences. 

Lucius flinched almost imperceptibly at the magical aura his master always managed to surround himself with, somewhat like a bad smell that lingered on no matter how many times you aired out a room. It was an intense, damp kind of cold that reminded you of a graveyard on a raw, wet day in autumn. His master could lower the temperature of any room he entered by ten degrees in short order.

Lucius knew better than to ask about the phenomenon.

“Ah, at last my herald returns, come in, Lucius,” said his master.

“My Lord,” said Lucius, while kissing his master’s robes from the kneeling position he’d assumed immediately upon reaching the Dark Lord.

“All went well?” said the tall figure in dark robes, who was sitting in a wooden chair by the moonlit window. 

“Well, what did your Legilimens spell reveal?” he pressed.

Lucius kept his head down his long hair covering his face. This moment was crucial and would prove to be either his death or the chance at a new life. The first thing that any child of his house learned was that a successful lie only benefited from a large dose of the truth mixed in with the deceit.

“My Lord, I fear I must beg your forgiveness, for I have presumed to alter the plan,” he said in a steady, neutral voice.

Lucius recoiled slightly when he heard a hiss emanate from deep within the dark robes that housed the rail thin creature that was his acknowledged master.

‘More fool I for letting this creature rule me,’ he thought. ‘That youthful indiscretion might still prove to be my absolute undoing.’

Voldemort almost absent mindedly withdrew his wand from the pocket of his robes, and pointed it directly at Lucius.

“Crucio,” he said coolly, looking unwaveringly at his servant as he did so.

Lucius was immediately overcome by the sheer, unparalleled pain that made up the core of the Cruciatus curse. He fell to the ground, screaming and thrashing violently, while traces of foam started to gather at the corner of his mouth as the seconds dragged by. Coherent thought was all but impossible whilst under the effects engendered by the curse; your only hope would be to survive whatever amount of time Voldemort deemed applicable for your transgression. 

After what seemed like an eternity the Dark Lord finally released Lucius. His favored child laid panting and gasping at his mentor’s feet trying to regain some part of his self-control. Voldemort had, time and again, made it crystal clear that he despised any display of weakness either physical or emotional in his Death Eaters.

“You displease me, my dearest of servants. Now enlighten me as to why you shouldn’t be made an example of, as a most distressing lesson in obedience for my other children,” he asked almost casually.

Lucius’ bones and muscles were still shrieking in agony but he attempted to dismiss the pain from his mind. He must keep his wits intact if he intended to survive the next several minutes’ interrogation. His master had a justly earned reputation for inflicting severe reprisals upon any servant who exhibited any signs of disingenuous or defiant behavior.

“My Lord, we already knew the chances would be minimal that the Potter boy would be foolish enough, or rather that Dumbledore would let him be, to fall into yet another trap of your making,” Lucius said, blood flowing down his chin from a self-inflicted bite made to his lips during the curse.

The Dark Lord simply nodded an acknowledgement and Lucius continued, “The Legilimens indeed might have provided some information perhaps, with luck, something pertinent. However, once that single goal had been achieved I determined that we would have wasted a far greater opportunity, if I’d simply disposed of her, as per your original instructions,” he said, trying to catch his breath. 

“Continue,” his master said implacably.

Lucius, using all of his formidable willpower, strained to reach a kneeling position again. “It was at your gracious hand my Lord, that I learned first learned how to take advantage of any opportunity that came my way” he said hoarsely. 

“Go on,” said Voldemort intrigued now despite of his anger.

“The girl herself provided me with an opening that I could hardly resist” Lucius said, while reaching inside his robe slowly to pull out a handkerchief to wipe away a trickle of blood running from his nose. “A chance to tie her to our cause thus making her far more valuable to us alive then dead,” he elaborated.

“And what was this opportunity she provided?” his master asked.

“She presumed to instruct me about my own bloodlines,” Lucius said with a crooked smile.

“The hubris,” Voldemort said his anger flowing away into amusement in a heartbeat.

“She assumed we did not understand the benefits of inter-breeding with outsiders,” Lucius said.

The Dark Lord actually laughed a short merciless bark. “And that led to…” the Dark Lord prompted. 

“An agreement of sorts was struck, my Lord,” Lucius said. “I allowed that her muggle “science” might indeed have a point, that prompted me to ask her to let me father a child on her in return for her freedom,” he finished.

“And the mudblood agreed?” Voldemort asked incredulously.

“I can be very…persuasive when I choose to, my Lord,” said Lucius with the hint of a smile on his face.

“To what end then…blackmail perhaps?” asked Voldemort.

“No my Lord, I suspect the mudblood would be highly resistant to that approach. The linchpin here I think will be the child. It will be my connecting point, my entrée if you will, to her life and eventually her secrets,” said Lucius.

“And can you be sure Lucius that she won’t flee and simply abort the child?” his master probed.

Lucius nodded. “I can master. Part of our agreement was that she swear a wizard’s oath to both bare and protect the life of the child,” he said simply. 

“So the groundwork is already laid for this blood bond?” his master murmured.

“Even better than that my Lord, the bond was assumed by her and girl is now pregnant with my child. I’ve even begun the process of cutting her ties to her friends in the Order,” he replied.

“You amaze me sometimes Lucius. But then you were always skilled in arts of pleasure. A fairly straightforward breeding was it then?” Lord Voldemort queried, indicating the necessity for further elaboration on his servants part.

Voldemort then waved his arm languidly at the same time, indicating that Lucius could now safely rise. Lucius rose unsteadily and stood in front of his shadowy master in a more relaxed manner although his muscles felt weak as a newborn babe. “Yes my lord, we had an almost immediate physical rapport that made everything go smoothly,” Lucius elaborated. 

“I see your charms are still undiminished my friend,” said the Dark Lord. 

Lucius gave his master a half-bow. “Desirability, at is most basic level, is only power calling to power, my lord,” he replied. 

“So, she is as talented as advertised?” asked Voldemort.

“Yes, power combined with intelligence. Unusual for a Gryffindor,” Lucius said.

“But loyalty is also a strong trait among that house Lucius. Will she support our cause?” he asked.

Here Lucius hesitated searching his mind for the most suitable words. “Not the cause per se my lord,” he said delicately. “But she will be loyal to me, and that amounts in the end to the same thing surely?”

“Somehow I fail to see the connection,” Voldemort said in a chilly voice.

Lucius dropped his eyes submissively. “My lord she is young and still quite malleable. If I continue to companion her, seduce both mind and body, she will, eventually, I believe be willing to do almost anything to protect myself and the child. That potentially, could prove very useful and with little effort expended in the process,” he replied easily. 

Lucius watched warily as Voldemort proceeded to tap his wand thoughtfully on the arm of his chair. “Put it in plain words, my heart” he ordered.

Since Voldemort only called him his “heart” if he was pleased, Lucius hurried on, “My Lord, she will never actively spy for us, but she can still provide us with vital information, if only in a passive way. Once our child is born, I’ll claim that our safe house has been discovered and that necessitates moving her again. By that time she’ll be quite homesick, and I’m fairly sure she’ll initiate the idea of a return to England, that with much reluctance, I’ll finally agree to.”

“And just how will you explain the sudden addition of her son?” the Dark Lord said leaning forward enough so that Lucius could clearly see the peculiar reddish cast that his eyes reflected.

“It can be explained away as a youthful indiscretion, master, someone she met while in school. It will credible to all her friends, as she will have obviously suffered from the enforced isolation. If necessary, we can produce a young man to claim the child as his. We have many supporters in France who would be happy to do so if she were pressed on the issue.”

“And you believe she’d agree to the lie?” said Voldemort his fingers caressing his wand.

“To regain the opportunity to see both her friends and family again, most assuredly, my Lord,” said Lucius succinctly.

The Dark Lord shifted in his seat. “A long term plan with, perhaps, but small gains in the end,” he mused. 

Lucius went down to one knee again. “My Lord if your oracles are accurate, the final battle is still some ways away yet. We may gain much advantage in the interim should we have access to inside information,” Lucius said. 

“Their divinatory efforts had best be truthful,” snarled the Dark Lord. “I gave them one of my best servants to boost their powers to that very purpose,” he said angrily.

Lucius shuddered at the memory of the human sacrifice involved that had enabled the seers to gain the Dark Lord that one small advantage. Crabbe senior had, it seemed, screamed endlessly as his lifeblood had run out over the ceremonial stone before he finally fell silent, unconscious from blood loss.

It didn’t pay to be located on the lower rungs of power in the Dark Lord’s organization. Lucius’ back muscles were right on track towards a stabbing ache if he continued to hold the supplicant position much longer, but he knew better than to move or show any level of discomfiture. There was nothing that fed his master’s ego more than a pureblood wizard on his knee before him. He must not lose this moment.

“With careful handling my leman will be most reluctant to see anything happen to me. Her emotions, the very loyalty that her house is known for, will eventually provide us with information that might prove imperative to our cause,” the blond said bowing his head, waiting patiently for the results of his petition

Voldemort sat deathly still and all Lucius could hear was the rattling, almost asthmatic sounding breathing, which his master produced. Several minutes had elapsed before the Dark Lord spoke again. “Very well then proceed, but remember Lucius, if this fails the penalty falls to you,” Voldemort said with dark amusement.

“As you say, my lord,” Lucius replied calmly.

“You are dismissed my friend,” Voldemort said, turning away to scrutinize the full moon outside his window, thereby effectively dismissing him.

Lucius rose and bowed his way out of the room, leaving the house without pausing to speak to any of the Death Eaters housed there. He made his way quickly and quietly across the Riddle Mansion grounds to reach a spot on the outer limits of the grounds that he could safely apparate from. He paused long enough to look back over his shoulder at the shadowy house flanked by the nearly invisible guards. He took a deep cleansing breath and released the occlusion barriers he’d set in place prior to his meeting. 

‘The first hurdle is completed,’ he thought. ‘I’ve convinced the Dark Lord that the idea is a sound one, and he’s agreed to the necessity of me continuing to see and work with the girl.’ 

Lucius grunted and stretched his arms over his head trying to release some of the painful kinks the curse had caused. In his unhappy stint in Azkaban Lucius had found himself coming to the unhappy conclusion that Voldemort would soon fall, fueled in no small part by his madness as well as his completely execrable skills in strategy. 

Balancing the requirements of two masters was proving the ultimate ruse and perhaps, also providing the most definitive test his Slytherin skills had ever come up against. Both Voldemort and Dumbledore suspected his motives of course, but so long as he proved useful, he would most likely continue to live. The canny Headmaster of Hogwarts had tried to Legilimens him each and every time they met, but thus far, had been unable to penetrate Lucius’ mind. Lucius was unsure at this point which was the more dangerous of his masters.

But if he did not manage to survive, then Draco and this new heir must survive in order to find a place in the new power structure that would arise from the vacuum created by the loss of the Dark Lord. The new wizarding world that would arise from the ashes of the old must not by run entirely by Dumbledore and his cronies. That was non-negotiable and the most imperative item on his agenda. 

Someone must remain to help embody Salazar’s values and try to reestablish a way to carry on the pureblood traditions and customs. In the first flush of victory, power would undoubtedly be handed to the more liberal element of wizarding society, but it need not remain so. If a series of unfortunate incidents should happen to occur in direct relation to certain foolish open-door policies, the court of public opinion might turn around quite rapidly. 

If and when it did, a Malfoy must be ready to step forward and accept a foremost appointment in the government, perhaps even the Minister of Magic position itself. It was Lucius’ obligation to his family and his blood to ensure that this happened at some point.

Lucius recognized too that his marriage to Narcissa had run its course. She’d provided him with an heir but was, unfortunately, no longer the asset she once been. In the next few weeks he’d make a generous offer to her as an incentive for her to divorce him. The funds that he’d secreted away in his Swiss accounts ought to prove sufficient to that purpose. Narcissa knew of those but nothing of the existence of his French funds that would be used to make Hermione and her child financially secure. In marriage, especially an arranged marriage, it was always best to keep some secrets.

At present, while his influence was at its lowest ebb, Narcissa would undoubtedly leap at the chance to avoid the possibility of suffering the fate as her husband. His wife had many fine qualities but foresight was not among them, and she would undoubtedly believe his assertion that he was protecting both herself and Draco by setting her aside.

It would also suit his purpose because, by necessity, the separation would create a soft landing spot for Draco after his graduation from Hogwarts. In his usual oblique fashion, Lucius had made it clear to his son that he must avoid be marked at all costs. Fortunately, his master did not favor marking anyone before reaching their full adult status. Juvenile or otherwise irresponsible behavior did not mix well with the demands that the Dark Lord placed upon his followers.

He could almost feel regret that his unsophisticated lover would be cast into the maelstrom but, in the end, she’d have her reward. Hermione and her son would help represent the face of the new Malfoy’s. 

Strangely enough, he felt an affection for the girl that he’d never felt for Narcissa before their marriage. That had been a business deal between the families clear and simple and both he and Narcissa had accepted the rules and practices of an arranged marriage. This affair with the youngster was amusing and almost…sweet. 

He shook his head to rid himself of such fanciful thoughts. He sounded like some addled Hufflepuff.

With patience, Hermione would come to believe that Lucius had changed due to both her influence and that of the child they shared. He would make sure she found out at some point that he was actually spying for Dumbledore, but he would never tell her so himself. That would be entirely too vulgar.

He would then propose to Hermione as soon as the political dust settled and for the wedding he would open his home to the power brokers and sycophants of the newly installed government. With Hermione, Draco and his new baby son at his side, he would start to make inroads on establishing an entirely new reputation for his family, that of tireless loyalists to the new government.

And Dumbledore himself would be the very one to help him to reach this nexus. Oh, the irony! Served the old bastard right, Lucius hoped this would help kill him.

With a snort, he pulled his cloak closer as it had begun to become much colder. He stamped his boots and blew on his hands. 

It was time to put his plans into effect. He resumed walking again.

Only time would tell how it would all end.

End


End file.
